


Coming Home to You

by Gimpy379



Series: Coming Home to You [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe: Steve has a sister, Anxiety Attacks, Brother-Sister Relationships, Child Loss, Endearing Character, Eventual Relationships, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurts So Good, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of Cancer, Mentions of PTSD, Mentions of World War I, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mother-Son Relationship, Original Character(s), PTSD, Panicked Howard Stark, Parent Death, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Religion, She is a genius, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicide, Tony Stark Feels, Torture, Tragic Romance, War, World War II, celestials, child returned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 69,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9648596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimpy379/pseuds/Gimpy379
Summary: Beverly Lois Rogers was born six months after her father ended his life by jumping off a bridge.  This was just the beginning of Beverly's adventures: her tragedies and her happy endings.The story begins with an introduction, told by Thanos, who plays an important role in the story of Celestia and her Knight - characters who happen to be Beverly and Bucky's past lives.  In The Celestials, I will post the "ancient love story", which you will find is rather important when concerned with why Beverly's story even happened at all.





	1. An Introduction to the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the beginning, there were the Celestials. They are powerful beings, and their intelligence is unprecedented in all of the galaxies. There is one, however, that stood out in the greatness of her people. The Celestials merely called her Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can start anywhere, but you'll be really fucking confused. If you don't like all this hoo-hah though, Chapter Ten is your best bet because it starts with the first Captain America movie - but you might not get who Beverly is.

I stare out into the multitude of universes, watching the ebb and flow of Time as her mighty waves crash upon every solar system, every world, every species, every life...

Well, _almost_ every solar system,  _almost_ every world,  _almost_ every species, _almost_ every life, and _definitely_ _not_ every universe.  There are few universes - and lives - in which her silent song is paused, the music forever ringing on the last note played.  In these worlds, to all that are miniature and grand, immortality is a haunting tone.  I have heard its concertos and symphonies, listened to the notes fall only to never end, stuck forever as I wait, agonized, for the next unending measure.

As I look out, surveying all that my sights reach, my fingers curl into my palm, forming fists that have ruled without fail and without mercy since the dawn of my crude crusade.  There is immense strength in my hands, but my power is not infinite.  Such limited potential had and will never be enough for the hunger that lives within me.

I have crushed planets.  I have abolished whole populations.  I have breathed life into unborn beings and watched as their lives grew pitiable until only I could save them - I have wielded such mastery over the limited agency of my inferiors.  But none of these displays satisfy me, not even the adrenaline that comes with the eradication of an entire peoples' existence.

However, I know my fate.  I have fought it for far too long.  I can no longer thrive off of petty hatred and useless violence.  I long for Death's sweet touch, yet know whose eyes I will look into when the time comes: the soul of one who meant much to me before my troubled youth forced her to sacrifice herself for the sake of the universes.   _She_ will bring an end to my torturous life -

Nonetheless, that is a story in which one will need to be introduced.  And, so, let me start from _The Beginning_...

 

Long before the _Big Bang_ , as the creatures of the Milky-Way had so ignorantly deemed the creation of their universe, the Celestials lived, ruling Time and all her creations.

The Celestials - magnificent beings of great power and knowledge - are the Givers and Directors of Fate, the Children of Destiny, and the Bringers of Life.  They are known across the galaxies for being meddlesome in the affairs of Midgard or, as the humans say, Earth.  The humans of Earth may liken them to holy creatures, reminiscent of the Catholic God's angels, though that does not give an accurate representation of who the Celestials are.

Powerful and intelligent, the Celestials birthed multiple universes, peoples, and even monsters.  Midgard is only one of their many creations, though it was favored greatly by the most powerful of the Celestials.  The people were once ruled by a queen.  Within her was a wise but free spirit.  She was a fire, kindled by the kindness in her wild heart.  It was a different fire than that burning in her people, but it was what made her Great.

The Queen refused traditional black robes or the advanced armor created by the Celestials.  Instead, she chose to wear frivolously bejeweled gowns that highlighted the effortless way she danced, one of her favorite activities to pass the time with.  For all that she seemed incapable of ruling the Celestials, the Queen was only ever challenged once.  The Queen, challenged by an advisor, proved herself worthy through a bond between her kingdom and Asgard.  The Asgardian king was no fool, for he could see the power that swam in her veins.  And his prediction was revealed true through the passage of time.  The Queen was, indeed, a most powerful being.  Her power extended to space, time, reality, mind, power, and soul.  It was infinite, a power unlike those belonging to the Asgardians or any other people.

Yet, even with such greatness, she was not immune to the temptation of love.

Truly, this is what made her so awesome.  The Celestial loved without barriers: she loved Everything and all that was entailed.  I believe that once, she even loved the Children of Darkness: Galactus, Dormammu, and myself.  All of Her creations were precious to the Queen, but there was one who she loved to no limit, no act of his could have derailed the passions inside her.  To love him, the act was inscribed into her bones.  He, the Warrior, was titled the Queen's Guardian many years before the birth of Midgard.  The revered position of Queen's Guardian changed every few hundred years when one was felled in battle or retired to pursue family and the peace that Death brings.  Fate, despite the Warrior's every effort, had planned her newest guardian to bring the Queen's demise.

But that is the ending to a very long story.  To understand, one must learn that the Celestials, though powerful, preferred peace and merrier joys than the shedding of blood in fruitless battles.  Their people have a penchant for love.  One must know that, as the Midgardians say, love is a most powerful, but a fickle thing.  It is a story for a different time, for the story of my death and the Queen's love collides so beautifully...

And, now, let me begin.


	2. The Beginning/The Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We begin our story of strife and glory in a small hospital room, sleeping in the hidden corners of Brooklyn. The year is 1918, not yet the warm month of July, for the story does not launch with the birth of the older brother, Steven Grant Rogers. Our tale starts with the birth of a second man, destined to be her lover in accordance with the Fate's designs and Time's past illustrations...

The beautifully proud Winifred Barnes tossed her head back, chest heaving from her weary task, for she had just given birth to her first [and only] child. Her husband, George Barnes, pushed his hair out of his eyes as the nurse cradled a white blanket. Carefully, Winifred took her baby into her arms. George leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his wife's temple, eyes cast down to the mewling infant. There was an awe thrumming in his veins - a wondrous sort of disbelief that would never go away, not that it had really ever been given the opportunity.

"James Buchanan Barnes. It's the perfect name for a perfect little boy."

During the nine-month-long trial of waiting, the Barnes had argued constantly over a name. Lists had been made, crumpled up and smoothed out - they'd even run out of paper. And although George had bickered with his wife for what seemed like ages, constantly attempting to push her mind in one direction or the other, ultimately the decision was Winifred's for the making. And, when Winifred had caught a glimpse of her son, she knew that there was no contest. Her green eyes, identical to the baby boy's matching pair in her arms, dared her husband to argue as she snuggled their little bundle to her chest. George Barnes was a brave man, but he wasn't stupid. The husband helplessly agreed, both fearful of his wife's wrath if he so much as suggested a change in spelling and lost in the joy peppered in Winifred's face. The glow of her cheeks made his entire chest feel warm like he had finally found a home.

High above the clouds, worlds away, peering and sorting through Earth's creatures, the Weavers of Destiny paused. They cooed over the boy - oh how Fate herself would play his smirk and deal out unmentionable horrors - and began to plan his destiny.

"How wonderful," they murmured, taking his soul and un-weaving it from that of another.

The Weavers had been saving his soul for over a millennium - it was not an overly special soul, destined for both greatness and an ordinary existence, but it had a mate whose soul was not only immortal but far too precious to spend without forethought. This precious life belonged to an ancient spirit, which had once been two soulmates conjoined in an act of desperation and true love. Now, the spirit was two souls once more, however, the separation caused great unrest in the depths of their beings. The soul of the unborn child cried in the Weavers' arms as James Buchanan Barnes let out a mournful wail of his own.

Two months passed from the spectacularly important yet unrecognized event until the day arrived that another spirit, connected to the recently separated soulmates, was reborn. Just a few rooms from where James Buchanan Barnes was conceived, Sarah and Joseph Rogers welcomed a frail baby boy with the bluest eyes either had ever seen. Steve Grant Rogers entered the living world with a warrior's howl that should not have been able to come from such weak lungs. His soul, however, was strong and settled contentedly into the new life chosen by Fate's hand.

"Stevie, my sweet baby boy," Sarah whispered to the newborn. Her touch was gentle, the love in her eyes pure, as she soothed her finger along the soft cheek of her son. "You will be so loved."

Her declaration would prove itself to be true, but, for now, the child would be content - though, Steve would always be satisfied with the merest of amounts - to be adored by his father and mother.

Establishing the lives of James Barnes and Steve Rogers, we move forward into the year 1921. Both families of Barnes and Rogers attended the same church, thus laying the framework for a friendship between the boys. The children were of the same age, though James - two months older - was quite taller and much stronger than his friend. The two bonded over the emptiness of a house without a father: George Barnes and Joseph Rogers had gone to serve in the First World War. Only one came home, and Winifred Barnes became a widow. Their church's congregation rushed to offer condolences and comfort for a grieving wife. Sarah Rogers, with her honest and bleeding heart, was among them. The woman poured all the energy she had into comforting the other woman as best she could. However, as Mrs. Rogers was busy with her work as a nurse and consoling Mrs. Barnes, no one quite noticed Mr. Rogers sinking into the bottle.

Joseph was haunted by the scenes of World War I - the War, they called it then, never anticipating a second - replaying in his dreams every night. He heard screams in his sleep, and Joseph would leap from the bed in a panic as they drove him into a plagued wakefulness. His bare feet would drag across the floor as the man struggled to breathe, but Joseph would continue until he reached the bedroom door of his son. There, the fear would ease as the father watched the slow, uneven breathing of his child. He would smile at Sarah when she looked up from the book she was reading to their precious Steve. She would smile back, raising a hand to rest it on her growing stomach.

No one could have foretold his suicide.

The snow was falling lightly, a soft background to the figures huddled on the Brooklyn Bridge. Steve's hands were pale and thing, sticking out from his sides, as the boy gawked. Winifred Barnes lugged him backward, one of her hands strapped across Steve's chest while the other planted itself on her son's shoulder. Winifred's grip was the only thing tethering Steve Rogers to that still plane of existence, grounding him in a horrifying reality. Bucky reached out and clutched his best friend's hand as the snowfall grew heavy. His touch was weary but it offered the strength that the other didn't have.

Sarah Rogers stood closer to the edge, her voice a desperate cry against the wind. Her hands waved hopelessly, reaching out as far as she could to her children's father. Joseph turned, looking at his wife with lonely eyes. He watched her figure, swelling with his unborn daughter, before they scattered to Steve. Tears ran down his son's cheeks, making Steve's skin cold and clammy. Joseph's smile was gentle, comforting as it had been all of Steve's life. It created a surreal vision in the boy's memory - a horrible thing that would haunt him all his life.

"Don't - Don't you dare." Sarah's voice broke, cracking with insistence. Steve had never seen his mother's eyes glass over, a hardened look that shook his very bones. Sarah Rogers begged with every gesture and look she had for Joseph not to do this - not to their son.

"Take care of your sister, Stevie."

Joseph's words were carried off by the wind, but Steve could see the shape of his father's mouth just fine. Steve watched the words float away, ringing like shattered glass on a tile floor. Sarah screamed, lunging forward - caught by an officer - as Joseph Grant Rogers closed his eyes, hands outspread like wings, before disappearing in Brooklyn's icy waters.


	3. The Beginning/Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and James – Bucky, as they would come to call him – were quickly the best of friends, despite the circumstances and less than spectacular lives they were predestined to live. However, despite the darkness invading their futures, there was happiness to be found. Even after the death of Joseph Rogers, an event that only bonded them further, their lives would find joy. So it would be that in 1925 on an icy day in January - the third, to be exact - the fates' plans would come to a meeting point.

" _I'm six and the man of the house._ " Steve thought, offering an uncharacteristic pout, as he sat in the hard plastic of the clinic chair.  " _Why I gotta wait out here?_ "

His brows were unconsciously furrowed with a conscious dislike for hospitals.  He had been subjected to treatment too many times to count due to his bad health.  His bad mood, however, could not last long.  Today was a happy day, for the Rogers and Barnes were here for a different reason entirely.  Today, Sarah Rogers was bringing another life into the world.  Steve had been anticipating this day for months - it was a balm to the open wound of his father's suicide and lifted the young boy's spirits.

The door to the hospital room swung open, but Steve only caught a glimpse of the nurses' swishing skirts before it slammed shut again.  With a huff, he slouched in the chair.  Bucky elbowed him as Winifred gave a scolding tusk regarding Steve's impatience.  They'd been waiting since six o'clock the night before.  Bucky knew numbers better than him, so Steve had tasked his friend with watching the clock.  With each tick and every tock, Bucky would report how much time had passed.  Barnes' last check had revealed it was four in the morning, meaning " _allota hours_ " had gone by, as Bucky had so eloquently drawled.  Steve had nearly whined, terribly upset with how long this was taking.  Winifred chuckled as the small, asthmatic blonde pulled against her strong grip without much progress.

"Now, Stevie.  Calm yourself.  It won't do for you to look all ruffled up, now will it?  We'll be meeting a young lady this morning."  Mrs. Barnes' eyes shined in earnest when Steve huffed at her attempts to smooth his hair out.  Bucky wriggled in the hard seat he shared with his best friend.  The older boy gallantly eyed his mother with a glare when she made to slick his hair down too.

"These things take time.  We just have to be patient." Winifred attempted to placate the unruly boys, smiling as wide as she could.  Steve let his head thunk back against the wall with a groan.

"But ma," Bucky moaned, his eyes rolled dramatically into the back of his head, "it's been _hours_."

Bucky's mother merely let out a round of warm, teasing laughter.  Her fingers fluttered back to her son's hair, who grudgingly let her sweep it back.  "Well, did you think bringing another person into this world was gonna take five minutes?"

It was as if Steve had been reminded of the reason they were here and instantly sat straighter in his chair.  Excitement gleamed in his blue eyes - nearly melted the cold hearts of Destiny - as his mother gave birth to his sister.  When the door finally opened, both Steve and Bucky jumped to their feet.  Winifred scolded them lightly for being impatient, but her heart wasn't in it.  The boys were the happiest they'd been in ages; she didn't have the courage to scold them.  Steve scrambled inside the hospital room first, though Bucky was right on his heels.  Sarah looked exhausted, but her smile was as warm as ever.  All Steve Rogers had eyes for was the blanketed bundle in his mother's arms.

"Can I see her, ma?" Steve asked, straining on his toes to get a glimpse at his new sister.  Sarah chuckled and gently padded a spot on the bed beside her.  After Bucky helped his friend up, Steve settled by the crook of his mother's elbow, gleaming.  Sarah pulled the blanket back to reveal the blue-eyed baby girl she held.

"She's mighty pretty." Bucky grinned as he clapped Steve on the back.  The mothers joked among themselves that maybe their children would end up together.   Steve didn't hear a word.  He was much too focused on the darling little thing he had the opportunity to call _sister_.  The Weavers hummed in happiness as they wed the destinies of the Rogers and the Barnes until they were inseparable.  They tightened the knot so it could not be undone; the two futures were no longer separate and practically made from the same length of string.

"What are you naming her, anyway, Sarah?" Winifred asked as they set Steve up for holding the baby.  Sarah's brow furrowed, a bone-deep tiredness shining in her eyes as she watched Bucky and Steve fret over the baby.  The sight made the tightness in her chest loosen.

"I was thinking Beverly Lois?  Joseph always liked those silly beaver furs, and his mother was a Lois."  Steve's mother's voice was quiet, and her oldest friend gently took her hand.  A nurse glanced down at Steve's twinkling eyes, at Bucky peering over his best friend's shoulder to get a good look at the baby girl.

"You two better keep your eyes on little miss Rogers here." She warned, giggling at their incredulous faces.  Bucky snorted and slung his arm over Steve's shoulders, towering over the Rogers' kids with a serious expression.

"Ain't nothing or nobody gonna mess with Steve's sister, long as I'm around."

The Fates nearly gleamed with the progress of their work: a work to revive the lives of the children's past bodies and the lives their souls had once endured.


	4. A Slumbering Childhood

 1927

Sarah Rogers smiled, hefting the front door shut with her hip.  In her arms, she carried the groceries for the week; a hefty amount of coupons sticking out of her skirt pocket.  Winifred Barnes ushered Steve and Bucky out of the kitchen with a shout, shooing the troublemakers away.  Each boy had a large grin, gleeful with the mischievous joy of sneaking spoonfuls of sugar.  Bucky wondered past Steve as he greeted his mother after her long tour at work.  Sarah kissed her son's cheeks, brushing back his hair to get a glimpse at the color finding its way back into his face.  Steve was just getting over another cold.  The older boy leaned over the crib, looking down at Beverly, who had finally managed to shove her foot in her mouth.  The two-year old shrieked, sucking on her toes.  Bucky's nose scrunched up in distaste.

"Don't do that, doll." Bucky groaned, gently tugging at her ankle.  "Play with this."

Bucky offered her favorite toy, propping up her bunny from where it had fallen.  Beverly was instantly intrigued and lurched forward.  Her chubby hands clasped Bucky's wrist and yanked, attempting to make him giver her toy up.  When he resisted, Beverly let go with a pouty huff.  Bucky smiled and his grin was immediately echoed on the toddler's face.  He tilted his hand, making the bunny dance across her stomach.  Beverly gasped with laughter, clapping her hands together as if he had performed the most magical trick of all.  Sarah watched from the doorframe, her heart tight in her chest, running a hand through her son's blonde tuft of hair.  Steve burrowed his face into her hip, taking in his mother's scent as he rambled about their day.

"Bucky, go wash up for dinner," Winifred called, poking her head around the corner.  She smiled at her son's reluctance to let Beverly alone, but he dragged his feet to the wash bowl anyway.  Dinner was a quiet affair - the boys' mouths stuffed and Beverly having been lulled to sleep.  Winifred and Sarah didn't have much to say, but there was a sadness hollowed in their eyes.

Winifred died six days later - a clot in her heart, the doctors had whispered as Sarah stared at the boys as they entertained Beverly.  She took custody of James Barnes, easily and with an eager heart.  Three years later, in 1930, Steve celebrated his eleventh birthday in a hospital room.  His mother, however, was the patient this time.  She was diagnosed with cancer.

 

1932

Three pairs of eyes glared sharply at the world, a world that was so cruel to someone so young, that had forced them into living on their own.  All six eyes were sorrowful and lost, almost, in their heartbroken wanderings.  And yet, beneath their momentary sadness flickered a fierce strength.

It was February 18th, a day that would forever mark the parentless-ness of three children.   Beverly had only just turned seven some short span of weeks earlier.  Her party had been small, but the girl hadn't stopped smiling for days.  The boys were nearly thirteen, though Steve looked nine or so with his small frame and thin limbs.  The air was chilly against pale cheeks, still stained with tears, as the three children stood side-by-side in the snow-covered cemetery.  Two sets of tombstones, the Barnes and the Rogers, were lined before them.  The shallow graves housed the children's guardians, protectors, teachers, mothers, and fathers.  The four headstones marked the end of their childhood.

Steve Rogers pulled his younger sister against his side, sharp elbows and all.  Beverly slid without protest, weary from the emotional train-wreck they'd found themselves in.  James Barnes stood against Beverly's other side, effectively blocking the chilly weather from the young girl - a little girl who would grow into the young woman he was destined to love, even through the darkest times of their lives.  For now, however, he merely attempted to pull her rabbit from her face.  Bucky plucked a tissue from his pocket and wiped the snot from her ruddy cheeks.  As he put the handkerchief in its rightful place, the young boy turned his attention back to saying goodbye.

Behind Bucky stood the nun who'd been taking care of the three at a Catholic orphanage.  The older woman was gentle in her approach as the wind began to grow colder.  She took small Beverly's hand, knowing both boys would follow the little girl to the ends of the universe if it came down to it.  "Come, my dear.  It's much too cold to stay out."

The children would stay at the orphanage, though there had been a discussion of adoption and foster homes.  Adamantly, Steve had demanded they couldn't be separated: Beverly needed him and Buck.  The idea of sending the children away had been quickly dismissed.

 

June 1932

Beverly tentatively poked a toe in the water before shrinking back.  Bucky raised a brow, sharing a glance with her brother.  Steve shrugged from his spot in the sand, sitting comfortably with a towel pulled over his shoulders to hide his pale skin from the sun.  It was strange for Beverly to be unsure - she had never been afraid of much of anything before.

"What's wrong, doll?  You wanna hold my hand?" He asked, crouching in the water.  Little waves rolled over his legs, and Bucky offered Beverly his hands.  She shook her head, taking a step back.  Bucky's heart crashed in his chest, but he gave her a reassuring smile.  Beverly's tiny hands twisted with anxiety as she gave the water a dreaded look.

"No.  Daddy is in there," Beverly whispered.

Bucky's breath caught in his throat, stuck as hot tears burned in the back of his eyes.  He tried to shake his head, tried to explain, but the pain of Joseph Rogers' death felt just as fresh as it had on that cold evening.  Steve appeared at his sister's side, words coming much more easily to him than they ever had for Bucky.  The older boy was relieved, in a way, that Steve knew what to say.  He certainly didn't have the description to take Beverly's fear away.

 

1934

Excitement had been ringing in the orphanage for weeks.  Fourth of July notwithstanding, Steve Rogers' birthday had been the most anticipated holiday of the year.  Finally, the boys were seventeen.  Everything had already been filed.  Beverly was in their care, under their combined guardianship.  Steve and Bucky had never taken anything more seriously in their short lives.

The orphanage had managed to find them a suitable one-room apartment, which suited the kids just fine.  A few priests had helped them move in, and though it was cramped, Steve thought it looked just perfect.  Bucky was glad to finally have something to call his own after years of sharing a room with troublesome boys.  Beverly simply found a few pencils and drew on one of the walls - Bucky didn't have the heart to stop her.  Her beaming smile as she looked at him from over her shoulder made everything worth it.

She did not wear the same smile as Steve walked her to the school just down the street.  Her pout wobbled as her brother gently guided her along the sidewalk, though the girl dragged her feet as best she could.  Beverly's schooling had been part of the deal with the judge, who demanded that the girl needed an education.  Beverly wasn't particularly excited, and her sentiments on the subject did not change as they approached the schoolyard.  Her mouth settled into a frown, intelligent eyes catching sight of mothers kissing their little ones goodbye with smiles and loving whispers.  She had never really thought about her lack of a mother - not until she saw these other children with something she so obviously did not have.

"Stevie, I'm scared," Beverly whispered, looking up at her brother with big eyes.  She looked back at the other students with apprehension.  Steve smiled, knowing there was very little Beverly was afraid of and making friends was not one of them.  He kneeled to her height, brushing a thin hand through her hair.  There was something pinched in his stomach because he too saw that ache in Beverly's blue eyes - that want for her mother, for Sarah Rogers' gentle comfort and his sister's favorite Irish lullaby.

"There's no reason to be afraid, doll.  Buck will be waiting right here for you, after school." Steve indulged.  Beverly let out a heavy sigh, nodding complacently as she decided to use another tactic.  She smiled a grin that Steve instantly knew meant trouble.  He didn't know what that trouble was until he found himself sitting with Bucky in the principal's office.  While the head of the school explained Beverly showed an incredible talent and intelligence unrivaled by her age bracket, her behavior - especially in the setting of a teacher on fire - was not to be tolerated.  Beverly's feet didn't reach the floor, so she swung them - purely happy her plan had worked and she wouldn't have to go to school anymore.  Unfortunately, and much to her disappointment, Steve simply enrolled her in a different one.

It was only a few months later when their luck began to dry out.  Late one night, the floor cold from the broken heater and New York Winter, Steve and Bucky stayed up late.  Beverly crept around the corner, straining to hear the boys' low tones.  They were murmuring quietly to one another, soft little lulls of words and snippets of conversation swam around her head.  Beverly knew she was supposed to be in bed - the boys had just tucked her in - but the girl hadn't been able to fall asleep without Bucky to guard her against the monsters under the bed or without Steve to tell off the shadows dancing on the walls.  She had logically decided to seek them out when Beverly realized they were whispering in a way that meant they were telling secrets.  Her sneaky little ears caught on Bucky's voice, and she put all her focus on pairing together his muffled words.

"The bills are piling up.  If we put it off any longer, they're gonna come for her, Stevie."

An edge of fear had crawled into Bucky's voice as he whispered.  He sounded so awfully sad that it made Beverly hug her bunny closer to her chest.  She didn't know who " _they_ " were, but with the way Steve's breath came out loud and choked, she didn't like them one bit.  If money, she thought, was the problem, she'd just have to come up with a solution: Her boys should never be sad.

Beverly made her way back to the bedroom, setting her bunny on Bucky's bed so the two of them could brainstorm.  "Hmm." She hummed, placing a hand on her chin the way Bucky did when he was deep in thought.  Soon giving up on thinking, Beverly decided to investigate for anything that could help her in the bedroom.  Looking around, the girl spotted a newspaper on the floor.  Her eyes lit up at the _SECRETARY WANTED_ poster.  While Beverly didn't know what a secretary was, she liked the sound of it and the girl figured she'd just found a way to help her boys out.

Back in the living room, the older two - who, truly, were only children themselves - shuffled through papers.  Bills with red ink made the boys sigh and drop their shoulders.  They were behind on several of their payments, and Steve's inability to count on his health had taken a toll on their income.  The boys needed money, and they needed it right then.  The stiff muscles in Bucky's back burned as they worked through the digits, but his labor from the lumber yard brought in the most cash.  Steve wasn't strong or well enough to pursue any art jobs at the moment - he was still recovering from his most recent cold.  They were relying on Bucky's small paycheck to get them through the month, but they'd already spread it thin.  The small blonde gave a huff of air through his nose as their situation seemed only more desperate.

"I can't lose her." Steve gulped, tired and scared.  His eyes were frantically searching for a solution but his vision was soon blurred by unshed tears.  Bucky landed a hand on his shoulder, giving his best friend a shake.  He wouldn't admit it, but the future looked even bleaker than it had when Joseph Rogers took a dive off Brooklyn Bridge.

"I know, Stevie.  I know that better than anybody." Bucky had tried to sound strong, but his voice was rough, cracking in all sorts of odd places.  The sadness was palpable in the air, a heavy stench that couldn't be expunged.  It burned at his eyes, but Bucky cleared his throat as if regaining his resolution.  "So, we won't.  I can take some extra shifts at the shipyard.  I'll get off later, but Bev's been begging to walk herself home anyway.  Let's give her a little freedom."

Steve's sigh was soft and broken.  "I suppose it's better than not having her at all."

With that, the Fates guided the younger Rogers to her destiny.  It was one full of greatness, but it also held innumerable sorrows along the path to such success.


	5. Independence and Growing Up

Six days later, Beverly stood impatiently in front of Bucky.  He'd walked the girl to her newest school, hoping this one would stick.  Beverly blew through all her coursework and quickly became bored with the unavailability of something to put her mind to.  To cure her boredom, Beverly pulled shenanigans and zoomed about the room to cause a general ruckus.  But since she is only in second grade, her teachers underestimate Beverly and usually assume the Rogers is a troublemaker.  They kicked the Rogers to the curb with the petty explanation of "our school doesn't tolerate such behaviors."

"Alright, you listen here, missy.  You stay outta trouble and I'll pick you up later."  His voice was a warning, but Beverly preened up at Bucky.  She could see through the facade and knew he adored her antics just as he adored her.  Beverly batted her lashed the way Steve - _sarcastic and just as_ mischievous _Steve_ , Bucky thought - had taught her last week.  Bucky was unconvinced by her show and continued slicking back her hair.  He drew his slim fingers through her tresses, which were just as brown as dirt opposed to Steve's golden locks.  It always settled his mind to see his best friend's eyes take on a look of sly excitement in a way he'd only seen in Beverly.

"Me?" She guffawed.  A hand landed on her chest as if Beverly was offended.  "Trouble?  I've never heard of such a thing.  Honest."

Bucky only chuckled and leaned down to brush a kiss to the crown of her head.  Her hands curled around his neck and Beverly took in a deep breath, closing her eyes to put the smell of him somewhere in her mind.  Bucky backed away, looking down at her as Beverly offered a smile that bordered on unsure.  Worry weighed heavy in his bones, but he knew that he had to get going if they were going to pay off the bills.

"Alright, alright.  Have fun." He sighed, shooing her off to the schoolyard.  Beverly spun on her heel and shot towards the grass if only to give the impression that she was excited about school.  There were other children - all giddy and sporting new clothes and hairdos - but she didn't have time for that.  Beverly stood on the school's porch, waiting until Bucky was around the corner before taking off down the street.  In an engineering manufactory, Donald O'Neill sat, aggravation curled in the base of his spine.

"Next!" O'Neill barked.  The thick Irish accent had never faded from the rough surface of his voice, and, even at twenty years old, his words always sounded angry.  He had worked hard to reach his managerial position and wasn't keen on losing it because workers had no respect.  Donald was sick - enraged nearly - of the deluded young women who pranced into his office with the foolish idea they would be entertaining some Theodore Roosevelt debonaire with a charming smile and kind words.  The last misguided blonde left in a huff.  Her tears blurred her vision, so much so that she nearly ran into Marilyn, Donald's worn-out secretary.  However, Marilyn came in with a grin - her smile much too large for Donald not to suspect something was afoot.  The secretary was followed by our small brunette, the girl simply ten or twelve.  Beverly waltzed in with her chin tilted high up in the air and a thin stack of papers in her skinny hands.

"Miss Rogers, sir." Marilyn offered before scurrying from the room, a smirk on her mouth at her employer's surprise.  Donald - God help him if anyone else found out about his soft heart - couldn't help but to smile as Beverly climbed haphazardly into the chair.  He cleared his throat and forced any thought of a smile straight out of his head.  Donald understood, thinking that the little girl had to have a good reason for trying to get a job, and hell if Donald O'Neill didn't respect that.

"How old are you, Miss Rogers?"

Beverly narrowed fierce blue eyes that suddenly made Donald feel as if _he_ was the one being interviewed.  "I'm nine, sir.  But I work hard and I don't give up.  And," Beverly paused, thinking as she pursed her lips, "I promise to not cause _too_ much trouble."  The hardened Irishman felt his heart warm.  Inside the child sitting before him, Donald O'Neill saw what all of Beverly's teachers had failed to see: a potential that shone from her very essence that just needed to be cultivated.

"Well, Miss Rogers." Donald made his decision readily.  He knew there might be consequences, but he couldn't resist such raw determination.  The girl had hit some spot inside him, and perhaps Donald owed her for showing him what it meant to have passion - something he'd nearly forgotten.  "Let me take a look at that resume of yours.  We'll see what positions we have for you."

A day later, Donald watched as Beverly Rogers struggled through the filing - her tenacity too stubborn to ask for help - before he finally approached her.  "You're doing a very good job."

Donald praised her, seeing several of the files matching by the first letter, though, oddly, not in alphabetical order.

"I tried to put the things in their right pile, but they've all got too many." Beverly huffed, exasperated.  Donald had to fight a laugh.

"Darling, you never heard of the alphabet?"

A blush rose Beverly's cheeks.  The little thing looked like a cat with its hackles up, the kind that was always spitting and hissing at anybody that got close to it.  "Stevie always says he'll teach me to write'em, but he is always getting sick.  Bucky tried, too, but he wasn't very good at it."

Donald smiled and swore to bring in some books for her to study the next day.

 

"Bev, sit still." Steve sighed, closing his eyes as bath water sprinkled his face and chest.  Steve's shirt was soaked, and while he was worried about catching a chill, Beverly's delighted laughter made it entirely impossible to scold her.  His sister let out another ostentatious giggle, slapping her hands against the water's rickety waves once more.

"Never, Stevie.  I will never be still in all of my life." Beverly declared, standing up and throwing her tiny hands in the air.  Steve watched Beverly's blue eyes grow wide at the cold air and laughed as she quickly dropped back into the water.  He hoped, with the sincere desire of his heart, that she fulfilled that dream and reached heights that he and Bucky could only ever dream of.  Beverly had been coming home chalkful of information lately, and Steve was so glad to see she had finally settled into an environment she could learn in - only he didn't know it was in a factory surrounded by machines, sitting on a dirty floor, as a tough Irishman quizzed her on math equations far beyond her age's normal comprehension.

"You two making a mess again?" Bucky's snickers echoed down the hallway, his boots thudding on the floor.  Steve could hear the brush of his friend's jacket gliding against the wall as Bucky took it off, hanging it in the closet.  There was something tired in Bucky's voice, but he had kept his tone light enough that the younger Rogers couldn't quite tell since she had much more trouble recognizing emotion in voices.  Beverly's eyes were bright with joy and excitement at the sound of Bucky's return to the apartment, and Steve ignored the cough beginning to make his lungs ache.

"Always!" Beverly cheered.  She scrambled out of the bath despite her brother's protests and snagged a towel before sliding out into the hallway.  Beverly's goal was to greet Bucky, but she had not accounted for her wet and slippery feet.  She crashed into the wall instead.  Bucky tried not to laugh as Beverly fell onto her bottom with wide, surprised eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart." Steve chuckled, leaning against the door.  Bucky finished drying the girl off as she retold her fabricated day at school.  As Bucky walked her to the living room, Beverly's eyes flew to the tea pot the boys kept their cash for bills in - letting a secret smile cross her mouth as she'd slipped in a few bills that Donald had given her.  Beverly knew it was sneaky and Steve always said that lying was a sin, but she figured that God probably understood.  Besides, she had asked God last Sunday and he hadn't _said_ no.  Bucky hauled her into his lap and helped Beverly with her rosary at the girl's request.

That night, Beverly lay on the couch and stared up at the ceiling.  She held onto her mother's old cross with all she had.  When the girl couldn't take it anymore, Beverly fled from the living room.  Bucky's head snapped up as the floor boards creaked under Beverly's nearly silent feet.  It was late, but their two-room apartment had been lively in the way it usually was: filled to the brim with coughs and gasps for breath.

"Beverly, go back to the living room.  I'll be right there." Bucky promised, but his pleading tone fell on deaf ears.  Beverly knew what she wanted, despite her fears and Bucky's reluctance, and she wanted her big brother.  She crept into the bedroom, creeping along the wall with curious eyes.  Steve looked like a ghost, unmoving as he lay under the thin bed sheets.  He raised his head as much as he could - raising Bucky's concern.  His eyes were bright and wild and searching before he let it drop back to the pillow with a defeated sigh.  Bucky made to stand and guide Beverly out of the room before she could try any protests.  The sister evaded his hands, ducking away from his well-meaning guidance, and stealing to her brother's side.  The older boy sighed, pushing his hands through his hair with both frustration and fear, as Beverly snuck into the bed.  Steve's thing fingers stroked her unkempt hair, inviting the child closer.  Beverly burrowed deep under the blankets, pressing against her brother's boney chest as if she could crawl inside and hide from the world - it was what she wanted, to hide.  Bucky and Steve knew she would never admit it, but the little girl was scared of much more than water and swimming.

"We'll have to sell the piano.  I can pick up an extra shift, just until you get back on your feet." Bucky added at the fire in Steve's eyes.

"Not the piano.  What's you and doll gonna play on for me?" Steve whispered, swallowing down a cough.  His throat itched, but he knew it frightened Beverly to watch his asthma rear its head.  He'd do just about anything to keep her smiling.

 

To congratulate Beverly on her hard work at school, Bucky had thought a little treat was in order.  The boys had agreed on something simple and decided that the Coney Island fairgrounds was a good enough place as any.  As Beverly skipped ahead, her eyes caught on a booth.  Her eyes went as wide as Sarah Rogers' best dishes.  She stared up at the booth like it had all the answers in the world.  Beverly yanked Bucky's hand as hard as she could, effectively getting his attention."Buck, what is that?  I want it!"

"Buck, what is that?  I want it!" Beverly pointed to the toy llama on the shelf with excitement.  Bucky smiled, something blooming in his eyes, and obliged her.  He explained that it was an animal, called a llama.  Beverly listened raptly to his voice as she was handed a ticket.  She shot over to the booth, despite Steve's grumpy huff.

"She ain't gonna win that, Buck.  Not all by herself." Steve chastised.  Bucky shook his head with a grin, nodding to where Beverly was giddily taking the balls to throw at the bottles.  Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky's complete lack of concern, though he understood Bucky's confidence in her.

"When she cries over not getting it, you better be ready to find her something else."

Bucky laughed at Steve's negativism, rolling his own eyes over to Beverly's frame.  Her tongue was poking out, her blue eyes narrowed as she concentrated on her goal.  She launched one ball at a milk bottle with a throw that nearly sent her body back a few steps.  The ball hit the bottles square in the middle, sending the whole stack tumbling over.  The man who ran the booth gawked at the little girl, who was impatiently pointing out which prize she wanted.  Bucky gave Steve a smirk, earning the patented Rogers' glare.

1937

It was raining hard, but Beverly paid it no mind.  It was just rain - something that happened in New York as frequently as the snow did during the winter.  She could have cared less, even as the time slipped away until Donald was suddenly behind her.  His voice was incredulous as he asked her what she was doing at the factory so late.  The twelve-year old leaped from her chair, whirling to face the clock with an aghast expression.

"Oh, no!" She wailed in that over dramatic way the entire office staff had come to adore.  "Stevie and Buck are gonna be _so_ mad!"

"It'll be alright.  I'll walk you home and explain it to your brother."  Donald hushed her with a reassuring pet of the head.  His teasing voice faded as he recognized the way Beverly looked down, a guilty expression on her face.  She wore it with such innocence, but Donald O'Neill had known her long enough to not buy it for a flat second.  Her foot shyly scuffed at the floor as Donald stared at her in dawning terror.

"I... I didn't tell 'em about the job.  I've been telling Stevie that I'm going to school."

Meanwhile, Steve was a little shocked when the front door swung open and hit the wall with a loud thud.  He dropped the pencil he was holding in surprise, looking up as the rain began to fall harder.  Lightning sparked outside, casting a shadow across Bucky's stern expression.  His jaw was set in that awfully straight line, that meant nothing good had happened.

"Is she here?" Bucky blurted.  He stomped inside, still soaking wet and tracking in water, with wild eyes and a panicked look that made Steve's heart speed up in worry.   _What had happened?  What could possibly be going on?_ Steve stood, his knees creaking, in confusion.  His blue eyes were sharp with concern.

"Beverly?  I thought you were gonna pick her up?

Bucky gave a snarl, pacing the apartment's length as if the mentioned girl would simply appear.  His damp hair sprayed little droplets of water everywhere as he angrily shook his head.  "She wasn't there.  She wasn't at the school.  And you know what?  The teacher hasn't ever even heard of a Beverly Rogers!"

Bucky's laugh was coarse, though Steve knew it was only fear that drove that wild light in his best friend's eyes.  Rogers blinked, staring at the other before realizing what Bucky meant.  Steve groaned, rubbing at his face as anxiety began to build up in his chest.  It didn't make any sense, not to him or Bucky.  Beverly talked about school as if she loved it there - the little thing loved learning in a way Steve didn't understand, but it had made him happy to see her eyes so bright.  Hell, he and Buck had been walking her to the school for years!

"I don't got any idea where she could'a been going?" Steve worried.  In his head, image after image flashed by - all the horrible things that could be happening to his baby sister illustrating themselves in his mind's eye.  The boys attempted to collaborate a little longer until it was soon obvious neither one was getting anywhere.  Just as Bucky was getting up to look for her in the streets, there was a soft knock on the door.  Opening it revealed Beverly wrapped in a coat much too big for her and an older gentleman with kind eyes.

"I assume you're Bucky?" THe man asked, his voice grave and low as neighbors nosily peeked their heads out of their doors.  One hand was on Beverly's shoulder, presumably keeping her in place because the girl looked ready to bolt back down the stairs without a second thought.  Bucky merely pulled Beverly into his chest with a sharp " _where the Hell have you been?_ "

The man cleared his throat, giving Beverly a stern side-glance, before turning to Steve.  "I believe I can help with that explanation."

Beverly scuffed her foot against the floor after Donald was given a towel and invited in.  He explained how she had applied to a secretarial position several years back when she had only been nine.  Steve ran his hands over his face, almost embarrassed but more terrified that his baby sister thought she had the nerve to find herself a job.  And at a factory, no less.

"I'm sorry, Stevie.  I just wanted to help.  I- I o'er heard you and Buck talking in Febru'ry.  About the bills and the stupid 'they' and you sounded so sad.  I just had to fix it." Beverly mumbled, admitting the fears she'd had all along.  Steve's heart melted because _of course_ , she had overheard their conversation as if the boys didn't feel the universe frowning at them enough.  "I put the money with the stash Buck keeps in the teapot."

Tears were spilling out of her eyes, leaving Beverly's cheeks sticky and wet.  Her little nose was a bright red as she sniffled.  "I'm sorry.  I just didn't want to leave." Beverly choked out.  Steve let out a little nose before swooping her into his arms.  He and  Buck would never have let that happen.  As the tears lessened and Beverly began to talk about the factory, the more the boys heard her enjoyment for the work of engineering.  In the end, Steve couldn't see the harm of her staying with the job, though she had to keep up her studies.  Beverly hadn't looked so giddy in so long.


	6. Heartbreak and Love

1938

"I'm not going."

Steve's head thunked against the bathroom door as he and Bucky hovered in front of it.  Some mail boy had asked the youngest Rogers to a dance - but he hadn't shown up, not even three hours late.  THe boy's inability to arrive had struck something in Beverly, striking at her confidence and the easy smile she exuded until Beverly was simply a girl crying in the bathroom, unsure and lost.  Steve knew, though while Bucky did not, that Beverly had been struggling with herself as she grew into a woman.  He wanted to give her a hand, but he did not know how to help Beverly with the acceptance of womanhood.  It was times like these that Steve desperately wished that his mother had never been claimed by cancer.  So, he stood with Buck at the door.  Beverly's sniffles nearly broke their hearts.

"C'mon, doll." Bucky drawled, that charming tilt in his words that made the brunette giggle and blush with delight every time.  He put his smile into his voice, sure that it would bring Beverly out.  "I'll take ya.  We've already been practicing the moves - let's go show everybody up.  We'll be the king and queen of the hall."

Bucky's attempt brought a thoughtful silence.  Steve held his breath, brightening at the quiet as his sister thought over Bucky's offer.  Barnes let out his sigh of relief too early, for the door did not creak open.  Steve let out a soft curse as she locked it, his fist hitting the opposite wall.  Bucky closed his eyes, letting his head fall back - when Beverly locked the bathroom door, it meant she'd made up her mind.

"Aw.  C'mon doll.  That idiot doesn't know what he's missing.  Don't make me miss out on it too." Bucky tried, knowing that he was aiming low with guilt, but he couldn't stand to know she was so sad.  Beverly was such a happy girl, and her sadness made his stomach sink.  Steve turned away, nodding for Bucky to step off and let her alone.  His feet paused as Beverly's voice caught mid-sob.  Steve turned back with his eyes full of hurt and anger because Beverly was _really_ broken up all because of some stupid mail boy who probably hadn't even recognized her greatness anyway.

"I just want to be left alone," Beverly whispered, pressed against the door.  She listened with an aching heart as Steve softly told Bucky to give her some time.  Their footsteps retreated and Beverly sighed in relief.  Standing up, Beverly tugged at the pink dress Bucky'd picked up for her - something from his own mother's closet.  Beverly remembered Winifred vaguely, but she felt proud wearing something of the Barnes' woman.  Now, however, she pulled at the skirt of the dress, slipping it off.  All it did was serve to remind her that she wasn't even half the woman that some of the girls Bucky dated were.  Her chest thudded at the reminder, of how Bucky looked with his eyes flashing and cheeks a ruddy red when he came back from dancing with some dame whose name he'd never remember.  Another cry built up inside her and Beverly let herself sink into the bath as it shook her.

It had been a shock to feel the burn in her chest one afternoon, watching as Bucky looked up to smile at her with that laugh spilling out into the air.  Beverly had felt her throat close up and struggled to breathe out when he looked at her like that.  Somewhere in her memory, Beverly could remember when Steve explained love to her.  Steve had called it the bond between two souls, the way their mother had believed in it, and said that love could feel like your world was crashing at the same moment you felt as if you were soaring.

And, God, did Beverly Lois Rogers feel that turbulent rush when it came down to James Buchanan Barnes.

 

"I'm just gonna sit in here for a few more minutes.  You two go ahead and mingle." Beverly leaned up, pressing a kiss to Steve's cheek and patting Bucky's shoulder.  She received a worried expression from the latter, but Steve dragged him off to talk with the old ladies.  Beverly sighed, glad that Steve knew her better than anyone - so much better than anyone ever would, she was sure.  Turning back towards the altar, Beverly left their pew to approach her favorite priest.  Father Holden smiled as the girl approached.  He had watched her blossom, and was already prepared for the day she would come to him with the worries of a teenage girl.

"I'm in love."  Beverly spilled immediately as they sat in his office, clutching a cookie in her hands.  Father Holden chuckled, mind flittering to the childish crushes of his own youth - believing that was all Beverly's heart held.

"Of course, my child.  You are a mature woman, it is only natural that you feel this way."  His smile faded at the sorrow on her face.  He took her hands, reading the despair she had hidden in those blue eyes.  "But that is not your problem."

Beverly shook her head, admitting to a love that she was sure would never be requited.  Father Holden sighed, thinking over Beverly's confession.  She sat with an impatient bounce, biting her bottom lip in a nasty, nervous habit.  "Perhaps, my child, you must simply look for the potential for your love in others.  As my own mother used to say, always drown your sorrows with joys."

The youngest Rogers took the advice as best she could, especially when her torch was still burning for Bucky.  Beverly's attempt was what led to the moment two weeks later, where she found herself glaring at James Barnes with a hard look.  Her hands were thrown on her hips after Bucky had chased the nice gentleman who had been walking her to the shipyards after her shift.  There was so much rage, disappointment burning like a beacon in her mind, and frustration that Beverly let out an angry sound.

"Fuck you, James Barnes." She snarled, turning on her heel to stomp away.  Bucky easily caught up with her, a light smile curled over his mouth.  His delight in chasing away her admirers only fueled the hurt and fury.  She quickly continued before Bucky could even try and defend himself.  "I don't mess with you and the girls you stomp around with.  You oughta have more respect for my choices.  I'm not a little girl.  I- I'm a grown woman now."

Beverly fought to keep the bitter tone from her voice, tilting her chin up proudly.  She didn't want Bucky to know how she really felt, how his actions both upset her and made hope flutter in her chest - she knew he didn't feel the same way as herself.  Bucky was merely protecting his best friend's little sister, who he probably saw as nothing more than his own little sister as well.  Bucky rolled his eyes, but his expression held more guilt than it had earlier.

"Yeah, you've gone and grown up." Bucky's voice was a laugh, but Beverly couldn't decipher the smile he gave.  It was strange, something twisted inside that Beverly didn't know how to name.  "And I mean, of course.  You can handle yourself.  You are... very beautiful.  And a, ah, a Rogers."  Bucky stumbled over words, and Beverly's brows furrowed.  She smiled at the flustered look on her friend's face.

"You got a knot in your tongue?" She teased, crossing her arms over her chest with a snort.  A smile burst across Bucky's face, and, suddenly, Beverly's heart was beating too fast in her chest.

"You know, Rogers, a smart mouth like that is gonna get you in trouble someday."

Beverly played off her surprise with a laugh, rolling her eyes at Bucky's smug tone.  "Oh, really?  And I suppose you don't mind telling me when, then?  Since you can see the future?" She asked, voice petulant and challenging.  Bucky halted their walk, grabbing her face and beginning to hum an absolutely ridiculous rhythm as he pretended to cast Beverly's fortune.

"I see you making... Is that dinner?"

Beverly hit Bucky's arm so hard, he howled.  She scowled at him, but it was playful as the smile on his face.  "You deserved that one, troublemaker."

That night, Steve was leaning back into the couch, watching Bucky and Beverly croon in near synchronization.  As Bucky's fingers flew over the keyboard of the piano and Beverly's sock-clad feet tapped unerringly in time with the rhythm, he was hit with the sense that something's been developing right under his nose.  Steve watches the way his baby sister glances at Bucky from under her lashes as she dances.  He watches how his best friend steals short looks with Beverly turns away as his fingers play the music from memory.  Steve smiles, thinking of how his mother predicted this love before Beverly could even talk.

And, for the first time in a while, Steve felt complete.

 

1939

Lamenting over the worn paint on his shovel's handle, Bucky dug his tongue into the side of his cheek.  The past few months had been odd, to say the least, as Beverly had started to embrace the way she was becoming a woman.  Miss Maggie, an older woman from down the hall, had even given Beverly a few magazines to flip through.  Today, however, he'd been forced to face the reality of time's passing.  He could still taste the dust Steve had stirred up earlier that morning, digging through Sarah's old truck.  Beverly had outgrown her... _ladies wear_.  She'd needed some new things, but Bucky's paycheck didn't come in until next week.  Steve had decided to look through Sarah's old clothes and managed to pluck out a few things that would fit the girl.  Thinking of the flare of Beverly's hips or the new curves she'd gained made Bucky feel a heat he'd never really been given by anyone else before.  There was just something, something about Beverly that made him feel, just, so _in love_.

Whistles echoing all over the lumber yard caught the man's attention, but it was the unmistakable laughter of Beverly Rogers that followed after that encouraged him to turn to find the cause.  And, _sure_.  Barnes knew the other fellas liked to hoot and holler at the pretty girls that walked by, but he hadn't the taste for it lately.  Steve, the punk, had teased him - until he was redder that Beverly's favorite hat - that he'd found somebody.  And, Hell, he had.  Steve, though, he knew when not to push too hard.  Bucky figured his best friend had already sorted it out, that he was tripping over his toes for Stevie's sister.  Steve would'a told him, Bucky knew, if he didn't like the idea.  Though, it didn't really matter if Bucky had the approval or not.  It didn't matter when Beverly didn't - when she just _couldn't_ want anything like that from him.  He was Bucky, her best guy sure, but it wasn't romance that sparkled in her eyes when she looked over at him.  If friendship was all he could settle for, Bucky'd settle without thinking.  That didn't mean he couldn't look out for Beverly until she found the right fella.

His eyes found her without trying too hard - all one had to do was follow everybody else's line of sight.  Bucky scowled at his fellow workers, tossing down the shovel.  Guys who'd been ribbing him for weeks about Beverly's new voluptuous figure knocked at each other's elbows in warning.  The smarter ones scattered, but the guys Bucky'd known for a long while merely laughed and shot teasing looks in his direction.  Beverly walked towards Bucky now, as he finished scowling, those hips swaying in a way Bucky know was on purpose.  The girl was a menace and a flirt, but, God, could she get every eye in the room.  She'd abandoned one of the newer workers - a young fella with dashing features - who'd been talking to her.  Bucky couldn't help but be a little pleased about it.

"Buck," Beverly grinned, all shiny teeth and unmistakable bounce in her step.  He fought back the _ouff_ when she rammed into his chest without a moment's warning.

"Oh darn," Bucky drawled, letting his arms wrap around her, "what'd you do this time around?"

Beverly pushed at his shoulder, but her eyes gleamed with excitement.  It good to see it o her face, Bucky realized, especially when she'd been struggling so hard the past year.  "Nothing, honest.  Can't I just be happy to see my favorite guy?"

Bucky's chest tightened as she batted those long, fluttering lashes at him as provocatively as she could.  He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and swung an arm over Beverly's shoulders so that he could tug her to his side.  She slid willingly with his movements, natural and practiced, and slotted herself against him.  Beverly let Bucky lead the way back to his station.

"I did fix another one of Don's boilers.  It was just steaming all over the place.  Maxie thought it might just explode!" Beverly dramatically waved her hands as if something had exploded.  Bucky chuckled and shook his head; he was content to just watch her talk as they walked.  " _Anyway_ ," Beverly crooned as they came to a stop.  Immediately, Bucky knew that she had something up her sleeve - that was the tone she used when Beverly was trying to be sly.  Her hands landed on his chest in that excitable way of hers.  "Stevie's got a commission today, so it's just us with the house and the piano."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh as she looked up at him with those big, hopeful eyes.  "Sure.  We can read some new music.  Let me get my box and we can head home, doll."  He winked at her, just to hear her squeal and laugh, unaware of how it made her heart flutter in her chest.  The two arrived home, but not without Beverly singing her joys in the street.  She had managed to get Bucky to tag along with his swoon-worthy voice, but only for a few verses, as they climbed up the stairs to the apartment.  Bucky watched as Beverly ducked inside with the restraint of a toddler.  She was beautiful as she excitedly threw her shoes and her hat, shucking her coat and chucking it at the couch.  Her socks whooshed across the floor as she slid towards the piano.  Bucky leaned down, picking up her scattered clothes and putting things in their rightful place.

"Buck, c'mon." Beverly protested, almost rolling her eyes in her impatience.  Bucky laughed, hanging her coat on their unbalanced iron rack.

"Now, listen up doll.  It won't do to get scolded by Stevie so late in the week, not with dancing on the line."

Beverly grudgingly agreed to that point.  She was pleased when Bucky finished and patted the piano's bench to gesture him to sit.  Bucky sat with a roll of his eyes, but he was secretly proud of her excitement.  Beverly had already picked out the music.   The crisp, white sheets of paper were lined up just right and Bucky let his fingers take over.  Beverly was hovering over his shoulder.  Her fingers pressed against his collarbone as she jumped up and down.  Bucky could feel each time her feet came in contact with the floor and every time her toes leaped up from the wood.  It was a like a jolt, a heavyweight as she leaned into her hands, onto his shoulders.  At one point, the passion had risen and Bucky swiveled to face her so that they could delightfully sing the duet together.  He was smiling so wide up at her that it hurt, and that's when Bucky found himself with his hands on either side of her face.  It was like a slow motion picture as he tugged her down, listening to her gasp and the way her eyes widened with shocked surprise in a way it didn't often, but Beverly hesitated only a second before she dove into his movements.  She moved with Bucky's swiftly guiding hands to press her mouth to his.

It was an open kiss, full of spit and lyrics and passion.  The kiss was warm and long and wonderful.  It was everything Bucky had never realized was missing from all his escapades.  It was the feeling of belonging, of total completeness, a whole feeling that nothing could replicate.  Her mouth was soft - even with lyrics slowly dying off her tongue.  Beverly's thin hands curled at the base of Bucky's neck as he tugged her closer, chest to chest, her slim hips between his legs and her thighs hooked around his hips as one of the Bucky's elbows slammed into the piano keys.  The discordant sound that followed made a giggle pat against his mouth as Beverly's lip curled into an amused smile.  It didn't stay amused for long.  Her mouth fell open in a surprised gasp as Bucky slid too far on the bench.  They fell, hitting the ground with laughter and shock.

"Knobby knees." Bucky gasped with the aforementioned knee dug into his stomach, nearly knocking the air from his lungs.  Beverly's laugh was like music.

"Knobby ass." She bit back, but her tone was as playful as ever.  Bucky couldn't help himself - not with that sweet voice urging him on - from pressing kiss after kiss to her neck.  The skin was smooth under his tongue.  The lobe of her ear was soft between his teeth as Bucky tugged, and the little noise that poured from her throat tugged at something inside him.  He dragged his mouth back to hers to swallow her sounds, her words, the music spilling from her lips.  They fell asleep on the hardwood floors, listening to each other's heartbeat.

Hours later, Steve crept inside.  He'd been a little worried when no one had come to the door at his knock, but was relieved to see the two figures curled up together beside the piano.  Steve shook his head with gleeful amusement, tugging a blanket off the couch and covering the couple up.  "You two are stupid." He chuckled, "But, oh, how they say, love makes you do stupid things."


	7. Life's Mysteries

Skinny, nimble fingers were threading through Steve's hair as he slowly regained consciousness after a long, painful night of asthma.  The siblings had spent the entire night with body-shaking coughs that made Steve feel like he was hacking up a lung.  Dried sweat had made his hair tangled and difficult to comb through, but as Steve opened his sticky eyes he found Beverly patiently working through the knots.  The same calm determination was on her face that the younger sister wore whenever she was working through the schematics and scientific things Steve would never understand.

"Good afternoon, Stevie.  Bucky left for his shift at the lumber yard earlier this morning, but he should be back soon." Beverly explained, tenderly washing the salty sweat from her brother's heated skin with a cold rag.  Steve managed a wobbly smile and a tired laugh.

"I always worry when it's your cooking." Steve teased his voice nothing but a weak croak.  Beverly narrowed her eyes - through a smile quirked at the corners of her mouth - and gently swatted his shoulder.

"Hush you.  I cook just fine and well as you do."

The sound of Bucky's laughter made her scowl, but it was fond.  Steve couldn't help but laugh at Bucky's perfect timing.  A coughing fit quickly took over his lungs soon after, sending Beverly into a tiffy of concern.

"You should rest."Beverly worried as she tucked Steve into the sheets like a child.  With a sigh, he obeyed and let his eyes fall closed.  Beverly ran her fingers through his hair one last time before going off to the kitcen so Steve could rest in realative peace.  He fell into a dreamless sleep.  When Steve woke, the sun was just beginning to face from the sky and Bucky was singing in the most terrible fashion.

"Good Lord, you sound like a dying cat." Steve grumbled with a twisted grin as he managed to push himself up into a sitting position.  Bucky shouted about how Steve was deaf in the left ear and that he didn't qualify as a good judge of his ' _angelic_ ' voice.

IN the living room Steve could see his friend scowling, though not for long.  The corners of Bucky's mouth couldn't help but rise at Beverly's laugh.  It was the most musical sound either of the boys had ever heard.

"You do sound a bit like you're yowling." Beverly agreed.  Her voice was teasing and full of that special mirth that always reminded Steve of a fox on the sly.  Bucky grumbled and slunk down to the lumpy sofa, but he was fighting a smile.

"Don't worry, Buck.  You're the best yowling, dying cat I ever heard." Steve assured with a wink.  Beverly snorted in amusement, following BUcky to the couch.

"Hey, you don't think I'm the best?" Bucky had sensed the opportunity and seized it with a wide grin full of mischief.  Beverly and he went back and forth for a while, shooting mild insults and remarks at one antoher.

Steve was served dinner in bed, where Beverly joined him by the headboard and Bucky sat at their feet, telling the Rogers about his day at the shipyard.  Steve fell asleep with his head on his sister's shoulder, mouth wide open and drooling.  But, it'd been a good day and Steve was still breathing.  For Beverly, Steve only hoped that he wouldn't be stopping anytime soon.

 

Beverly kicked off her shoes, holding in a grown at the soreness of her feet.  Tugging off her coat, she hung it up on the rack before padding further into the house in search of her brother.  Bucky was home early, playing with the radio as Steve sat at the small desk in the living room, sketching out a design of a shop sign for a butcher in upper Brooklyn.

"Heya, Bev," Steve smiled, glancing up, as Beverly tossed her gloves onto the side table.  "How was the factory?"

Beverly groaned, kissing her brother's temple in greeting before she turned to give Bucky a different hello.  "Ugh, just awful.  Mildred and Patty were going on and on about this stupid boy they saw last night."  Beverly fell onto the couch with Bucky, not caring where she fell or how she looked.

"Such a lady." Bucky teased, though he discreetly fixed her skirts after Beverly had settled down.  She shuffled into the cushions, grinning happily at Bucky when he offered to massage her aching feet.

"I am just enough of a lady to get the job done." Beverly wiggled her brows when Steve wasn't looking.  Bucky wiggled his back, albeit a little more refined than his doll.

"Stop romancing each other over there before I gotta separate you two." Steve teased, not even have looked up from his work.

Later, Beverly was fiddling with some mathematical equations, curled into Bucky's side as Steve stood in the kitchen fixing a late dinner.  She snorted as her lover crooned - purposely off key - some song he had learned while at the shipyards.  Beverly shoved at his face in an attempt to shut the idiot up but the woman had no such luck.

"Aw, c'mon Beverly.  Dance with me."

Bucky grinned down at her as he stood, tugging on her hands to pull Beverly from her seat.  Laughing, the woman abandoned her work and fell into step with the lanky brunette.  She let her cheek smush against his chest as Bucky rocked them to some invisible beat.  Steve chuckled softly from the kitchen, having caught sight of the couple through the door frame.

"M'living with a bunch'a saps." Steve teased, fondly shaking his head when both Beverly and Bucky stuck their tongues out at him.


	8. A Beginning of a Journey

November 3rd, 1941

She was grinning in the tools when the others girls alerted Beverly that someone was coming up to the office.  She sighed dramatically as the woman tossed an old wrench back into its bucket.  Beverly rolled her eyes at the newer girls, especially Mary Ann Calhoun, who squeaked.  She was obviously struck by the fear that Beverly wasn't hurrying back to her desk fast enough.  Her hands had pressed to her flushed face with premature worry.  Beverly gave her the sign of surrender, throwing her hands up, as Marilyn simply shook her head in exasperated humor.  Caroline was passing Beverly's hat, which had been abandoned hours earlier on Mary Ann's desk.  Tilly was frantically gesturing that the wild brunette put it on when the door opened -

The room fell silent as the women all looked overly professional.  Well, of course, besides Beverly who simply leaned against one of the crates full of old parts.  She offered Donald O'Neill her best pout.  He smiled, nodding at the young girl with all the humor of a doting parent.

"I just wanna build something," Beverly grumbled like a scolded toddler, dragging her feet and slouching all the way to her manager.  "Just 'cause some new engineer - this Howard Stark - bought the company doesn't mean I'm gonna start following the rules."

Donald chuckled, gently guiding her towards his office.  "I know.  Actually, I have something to discuss with you about our new employer."

Beverly narrowed her eyes, looking at Donald from over her shoulder.  His voice was, as always, as gruff as ever, but Beverly knew he was a real softie.  She made faces as they walked, while the other young girls gave terrified expressions as Beverly disappeared in his office.  Donald pushed the door shut once Beverly had taken to his desk.  The man had long since given up on getting her to sit in the chairs meant for guests.  His chair had wheels and the girl just couldn't understand how someone could be so selfish with something that was _so cool_.   Beverly twirled for a few moments as Donald droned about the new boss, completely lost in the aerodynamics or whatever Donald called it.  O'Neill caught the chair with his hand, gaining Beverly's attention.

"Mr. Stark was impressed with how you fixed the boiler with very little knowledge.  He has expressed his desire to meet with you tomorrow to discuss a potential project."

Beverly's mouth fell open as Donald's news.  Pride swelled in his ribcage as he reveled in her shocked expression and gaping mouth.  Beverly shook her head at the light feeling ballooning in her stomach.  Donald patted her cheek, gathering the little attention she could spare.  "Go home.  Tell those boys of yours."

The other girls stared in bewilderment as Rogers danced her way from Donald's office, the manager looking on with a smile.  Reaching home, Beverly stomped up the steps leading to the apartment complex.  She smiled politely at the neighbors that she passed in the halls, nearly sighing in complete and utter satisfaction at the sight of her apartment door.

"I'm home!" Beverly sang as she swung open the door.  Steve was on the couch, a frail figure bundled in blankets, with a notepad in hand while Bucky stood in the little kitchen, where the beginnings of dinner were just starting to let off an appetizing aroma.  Beverly threw her coat onto the armchair, plucking her headband from her wild hair and tossing it onto the pathetic excuse of a side table that was kept by the couch.

"We know," Bucky smirked, turning to look at her from over his shoulder with laughing green eyes and a smirk on his handsome face.  "Could hear ya yammering all the way down the street."

His voice was teasing and light, full of mirth and adoration that made Beverly's chest ache with the excitement of it.  Beverly childishly stuck a tongue out at the brunette as she collapsed beside a smiling Steve.  She leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek and couldn't help but to shove him and mess up the little cat drawing he was making.  Steve gave his sister a look that threatened he would kick her off the couch, but everyone knew he'd never make good on it.

"Hey, dinner's almost ready.  Wanna help me set the table?" Bucky asked.  He was already offering his girl a hand up.  Beverly dramatically rolled her eyes but went to help him anyway.

"How was work at the yards, handsome?" Beverly questioned as she stretched upwards to reach the cups on the top shelf.

"Mikey broke his hand again.  Nearly busted Hank's stitches.  Got him all in a fit." Bucky's voice was full of bubbling laughter, but his news made Beverly forget the excitement in exchange for remembering to scold him.  His lover tusked in a grave manner and gave Bucky a look.

"You know I hate you working there.  Something's bound to happen and one of these days it won't be Mikey we send get well cards to-"  Bucky was laughing at the chastising and interrupted her with a kiss.

"Now, c'mon doll." Bucky crooned.  He tossed a wink that Beverly pretended didn't make her blush.  "Don't you know I could never leave you all by yourself?  Especially can't abandon you to suffer with Mr. Gump for the rest of your days."

Beverly snickered, gently shoving at Bucky's chest as Steve protested that he was not a Mr. Grump.  Bucky snorted and shot the brother a look of disbelief.  "He says as he mopes about." Bucky turned to give Beverly a look of conspiracy.  "He saw that bag boy again today.  The fella's got him all turned inside out."  Beverly gasped and rushed to press herself right into her brother's side.  Even though it was considered illegal, Beverly had never considered her brother's preference for men anything other than simply Steve.

"What'd he say?"

Steve winced as Beverly squealed right in his ear and gave Bucky the darkest look ever known to human kind.  "Nothing.  Jesus, all he did was give a smile."  Beverly shrieked, but after she'd calmed down, the little makeshift family settled down for dinner.

"I heard from Mary Ann's cousin that Donald called you in today.  What'd you do this time around?" Bucky tattled.  His lover gave him a mean look, but she couldn't keep the menacing expression on for long.  Beverly had good news that she was dying to share.  Straightening in her chair, she perked up and gave the boys a bright grin.

"Apparently, I managed to impress the infamous Howard Stark."  Bucky and Steve raised their brows in near unison.  Both were smiling, though Bucky's was much more ecstatic where Steve's was wary.  "And," Beverly continued, "I've got a meeting with the man, himself, tomorrow."

Bucky hooted and leaned over to press a congratulatory kiss to her mouth.  Steve, of course, was skeptical and began to prod for details.

"I don't know why." Beverly groaned, rolling her eyes to the high heavens above.  "It's a private project.  Mr. Stark's privacy is to be expected.  But, whatever it is," She persisted, completely unaware of the gleam that had entered her eyes, "I cannot wait to get my hands on it."

 

"Bev, we're going to be late." Bucky humphed, trying to tug on her arm to get the woman moving - one would have thought he'd already have learned that you can't rush perfection.  Beverly pressed a kiss to Steve's cheek.  Her fingers were already intertwined with Bucky's as he tried to adamantly demand that she was going to miss the bus.

"Okay, I'm coming.  Hold onto your trousers just a minute more, would ya?" Beverly chastised her lover with a dramatic roll of her eyes.  Bucky matched her eye roll with one just as equally as dramatic.

"Lunch is in the fridge, Steve.  Don't forget to eat." Beverly reminded as Bucky bodily tugged her out the door.  Steve waved his sister off with a smile, though he was laughing as Bucky desperately pulled her out the door and out of the apartment complex.  As the couple walked to the bus stop, Bucky swung their joined hands so that he could press kisses to the back of Beverly's palm.  It made the girl laugh, shaking her head at his fantastical idea of romance.  As they approached the stop, Beverly's stomach began to grow tight from the nerves.

"Alright, doll." Bucky drawled as the two stopped at the bench.  He pulled his lover close, so they were hips against hips.  "I'll pick ya up at the factory.  You're going to do great today."

Bucky grinned before suddenly dipping Beverly backward.  The woman gasped involuntarily, her hands rushing to grip his biceps, as their mouths were mashed together.  Just as quickly, Bucky put Beverly back on her feet and chuckled at her dazed gaze.  He pushed her up the bus steps with a round of laughter.  Beverly sat down, leaning against the window and pressing her face against the glass.  Bucky grinned, waving as the bus pulled away.  For a moment, a life with a cute little house and tiny feet running around thundered in the girl's ears.  Then, she was watching the streets of Brooklyn fly by.

Arriving at the factory, Beverly took one last look-over in the reception area of Stark Industries' New York building.  It was only five minutes later when she was called into the engineer's office.  To Beverly's surprise and curiosity, Howard Stark did not look exactly thrilled, per say, about her presence.  He gestured the young woman inside with a warm but very fake smile.  "Thank you for coming, Mrs. Rogers."

An annoyed frown spread across Beverly's face, and, smoothing out the skirt of her dress, she set to setting Mr. Stark straight.  "It is Miss Rogers, however, I would not attempt to change it, considering a James Barnes has been working on that for around fifteen years.  He'd be quite put out."

Stark's mouth quirked into a more genuine smile, a real one that Beverly was glad to see.  "I can imagine." He mused quietly.  Stark swept a hand towards one of the chairs in his expensive little office.  "My colleague will be joining us in a moment.  In the meantime, why don't you tell me about herself."

Beverly settled into the chair with a peculiar nervousness, for she wasn't used to the feeling.  Mr. Stark, however, quickly made her feel quite at home.  It was ten minutes later when another man - stocky and gray haired - joined the conversation.  Howard stood at his arrival, and Beverly figured it was only polite of her to do the same.

"Abraham, this is Beverly Rogers.  Miss Rogers, this is Dr. Abraham Erskine.  He is the scientist in charge of our project."

Erskine raised one thick brow, but Beverly caught the hint of a smile underneath his mustache.  "While you do not have the qualifications of a trained engineer or scientist, I have been assured that your intelligence and talent far outweighs scholarly merit.  With that in mind, I'm sure we can find some role for you to play in this project." Erskine glanced at Howard with tired eyes as the engineer continued for the doctor.

"But you will have to be extremely careful, as this is a top secret government project.  Under no circumstances, can you tell anyone about the work we are doing."

Beverly paused because that sure was a bit of a deal-breaker.  "I don't know if I could pull off something like that.  I mean, I live with my brother and his best friend.  They practically raised me, and I promised I wouldn't lie to them about such big things."

Howard hummed at this, his brows flexing in the most hysterical manner as a smile curled over Erskine's mouth.  "Well, you don't have to lie.  Just, fib it a little.  I've got this car I'd like you to take a look at.  I'm trying to make it fly.  Just tell'em we want you to help with that." Howard offered.  Beverly blinked, feeling like the universe was settling into place.

Hours later, she stood in front of her boys.

"He wants your help with a _car_?" Steve sounded so utterly unimpressed, Beverly was a little affronted.

"It's a flying car, Stevie.  I cannot believe I'm related to you.  This is the biggest thing to ever happen in all of history and that is how you choose to react?  With the Face of Utter Disappointment?"

Bucky snickered from his spot on the couch as Steve rolled his eyes.  "Maybe that's just his natural expression, dollface?" He offered with a teasing lilt of his head.  His doll cried out in fake agony and fell into her lover's waiting arms.

"Oh, the pure horror of such a thought!" Beverly bemoaned, throwing a hand over her forehead for dramatic effect.  She was surprised Steve's eyes hadn't fallen out of his skull from how many times he'd rolled them in the past twenty minutes.

"You two are a mess." He sighed, which was a very rare sign that stubborn head of his was seeing the light and giving in to his sister's persuasions.  Hope instantly lit up inside her.  "You've gotta promise to be careful, Bev.  I won't be having my sister be harrassed by some smarty-farty who thinks he's better than everybody else."

Beverly nodded feverishly, sitting up in Bucky's lap.  "Of course I will.  When am I not?"

Steve gave a warning look as Bucky nearly howled with laughter, his body shaking underneath Beverly's own.  "OKay," She grumpily admitted.  "I'll be careful.  I promise."


	9. Starting a New Chapter

November 6, 1941

Bucky stood against the bathroom doorframe, looking like a dashing debonair gentleman with a courtly smile and well-groomed hair.  He watched his girl get ready for her first day working on the "flying car" with _the_ Howard stark, though his heart was heavy with anticipation.  Beverly's heart was already racing, though at the sight of Bucky, the thought of her first day, or because she was lying to her lover and her brother, the woman couldn't tell.  She merely assumed it was a heady combination of all three.

Beverly smiled as Bucky slipped inside the bathroom.  His lithe figure slid in an elegant motion, each step telegraphing gracefulness and strength.  Beverly continued to put makeup on, even as her lover placed a strong hand on her hip.  The pad of his thumb circled round and round her hipbone, in a relaxing rhythm that Beverly knew all too well.  It was a movement Barnes was in the habit of doing when Stevie was real sick and worry furrowed those dark brows.  Beverly smiled reassuringly as she leaned a little closer to the mirror to see where she was putting her lipstick.

"I don't know why on Earth _you're_ nervous, Slick.  You look like you could be some Prince Charming right outta those ' _Gentlemanly_ ' magazines." Beverly teased, but she knew Bucky had caught the soft inflection in her voice.  A smile curled at the romancer's mouth, and he stepped closer.

"I suppose I'm scared Howard Stark'll sweep you off your feet and you'll leave me lonely, doll." Bucky hummed.  His grin was devilish as Beverly rolled her eyes, closing the compact with a light snap.  She placed the container on the counter as she turned to face her idiot of a boyfriend.

"Now, c'mon Barnes.  Don't you know you're the _only_ one for me?"  Beverly gave a flirtatious bat of her lashes.  Bucky's smile morphed into a smirk.  It was that stupid, cocky one he knew his doll adored.

"Oh," Bucky's voice sent shivers tingling through Beverly's body, zig-zagging in between her ribs, "I know.  I just like hearing it."

Beverly laughed and smacked his chest.  Bucky's eyes sparkled with mirth as he caught her hands.  "You casanova.  I oughta break a toe for that one." She teased, pulling her hands from his grip to snake those slender fingers up his torso.

"I'd like to see you try, doll." Beverly's lover challenged.  He was all puffed-out chest and charismatic smile.  The sight made her heart feel like it was going to burst.

"One of these days, I'm gonna teach that smart mouth a lesson." Beverly twittered, leaning up on the tip of her toes to press a kiss right to that smart mouth.  Her boyfriend grinned, smoothing his hands over her shoulders.

"If they're anything like this, I'm sure I'll comply." Bucky chuckled before words were forgotten.

Minutes later, Steve was hollering at the couple to get moving.  He rushed them out the door sooner than they could blink.  Time felt even shorter before they were at Stark Industries.  The building was tall and foreboding; Bucky snickered at Beverly's look of doom.

"Hey, you weren't nervous on your first day working with Donald.  What's so different about now?"

His doll snorted, rolling her eyes as they narrowly evaded a rushing businessman with a large briefcase and a receding hairline.  She fixed her eyes on her lover to let him know the weight of the stupidity carried by his former remark.  "Bucky, I was eight.  I still thought trolls slept under my bed, or, should I say, under _Stevie's_ bed."

"Those were some fun times." Bucky chuckled, knocking at her shoulder with his own.

"I'm not so sure Stevie would agree.  I didn't sleep with him for months - he thought I hated him."

Bucky's laughter soothed the nerves bubbling under Beverly's skin.

 

November 23, 1941

"I think it should be hot-rod red," Beverly announced as Erskine and Howard looked over a few of her first rough drafts for the machine that would turn the average man into a super soldier.  The good German doctor raised a brow, a smile curving at his mouth as Howard groaned.

"Beverly, I swear, I have never heard of the color." The other engineer fixed the girl with a look as Beverly pouted out her bottom lip.

"But Howie, red is just so much more... flashy!" Beverly exclaimed with a beaming smile.  Howard gave Beverly a look of disbelief.

"How much flashier does a _flying car_ need to be?"

 

ONE MONTH LATER

Beverly tinkered on the chamber that the soldier would undergo the formula's transformation.  She was working under Howard's instruction and Erskine's supervision.  Howard had wanted the chamber to be refined to allow the formula to be released in a gaseous form on command.  It was late in the afternoon when Erskine cleared his throat, barely glancing up from his desk.

"Howard, why don't you pick up some lunch?  I'm sure Beverly is hungry after all this work."

Beverly nodded, hardly listening.  Howard chuckled and gathered his coat.  "When I get back, you better have taken a break, Beverly."

After Howard was gone, Beverly put down her tools to look at the doctor with questioning eyes.  She was silent as the woman took a few steps towards Erskine's desk before she was sitting.  Erskine smiled a secretive, proud grin at her perceptiveness.

"I am going to trust you, Beverly." He sighed, taking off his glasses.  Beverly straightened, intrigued.  "With the serum." Erskine elaborated.

Beverly's eyes went round.  "But, you haven't trusted Howard with it?  Why - Why me?"

"Because, Rogers, you're a good woman."

 

December 3, 1941

"Are you done yet, Stevie?  If I sit still any longer, I might get stuck like this!" Beverly's whine carried through the apartment, but Steve ignored her in favor of capturing the curve of her cheek.  The scratch of pencil on paper was a comforting sound, the piano lilting the background as Bucky played one of Beverly's favorite tunes.  Beverly sighed, losing her pose and making her brother let out a grumble.  Bucky was struggling to fight back a smile as the Rogers gave each other similar glares.

"Goodness, Beverly.  Hold your horses.  Sure you weren't raised by wolves?" Steve sighed, standing up to reposition the girl.  Beverly tossed him a pout, but her eyes sparkled in the sunlight pouring through the window.

"It sure feels like I was sometimes." She teased as Steve returned to his seat.

The minutes ticked by until Steve changed from pencil to paint.  Beverly scattered from her chair, released from her brother's scrutiny, and she nearly slammed into Bucky as the girl raced to the piano.  Steve spent the rest of the morning on her painting, taking the time and effort to capture his sister in a way she had never been.  While it was odd to see Beverly so still, even if it was only a reflection, the piece was turning out to be one of Steve's best.

"Oh, I love it so much.  It's beautiful, Stevie." Beverly praised, peeking over her brother's shoulder.  Steve's heart swelled, proud, as the three crowded around the painting for a good look.  A feeling of great things fell upon their cramped apartment - and it was good, for the Barnes and Rogers, in that moment.  It was only four days later when that good seemed to cease.

 

December 7, 1941

Beverly'd been beneath the boring pale green of Howard's flying car.  God, she hated the color.  It was just so... ordinary, simple, plain.  She was not a plain, everyday kind've girl - one would think Stark would've gotten that into his head by now.Howard chuckled

Howard chuckled as he offered the girl a wrench.  "I can hear your adoration in every breath, Bev."

Beverly scowled, even as she took to putting the engine's finishing touches together.  The arc reactor they'd designed was beautiful, though it was also primitive and she was unsure of how well it would work for the test run at the Expo.

"If you'd let me paint it, Howie.  A red - a hot rod red." Beverly hinted as she slid out from underneath the hood.  Erskine chuckled, fiddling with the radio, as Howard pointedly shook his head.

"Not in your life, Rogers."  Howard grinned at her instant, dramatic imitation of death.

"Can I paint it now?" Beverly whispered, eyes closed so her lashes softly brushed her cheekbones.

"I'm afraid being a ghost ain't gonna change my mind."

Beverly leaped to her feet and groaned in aggravation.  She had just opened her mouth to argue the point when Erskine shushed the arguing engineers, turning the radio's knob so the sound of explosions blasted through the room.

" _Pearl Harbor's been attacked!_ " The announcer had cried, anguish and horror in his voice as the dreaded war finally came to America's home-front.  The feeling of impending doom only grew worse when Bucky got a letter on the tenth.  He wouldn't talk about it, but Beverly suspected it had something to do with the gloom that followed the boys for days after.

In such a short time, everything changed.

 

December 10, 1941

Bucky'd gotten the letter this morning.  It had been sent the night before, direct mail.  In his eyes, the stamp, proclaiming THE ARMY OF THE UNITED STATES, stood out like a headstone.  Barnes swallowed, hands shaking as Steve sat across the table from his best friend.

Waiting.

Steve's face was grim, barely lit by the lights of the kitchen.  He was like a shadow, sitting there, with an anxious expression and a face that was all harsh lines.  Bucky handed him the letter with a hesitation and fear he'd only felt a few times in his life.  Steve took the letter, tore open the envelope with the grace of starving lion.  Beverly got her impatience from him, that much Bucky knew for sure.  His hands stilled as his eyes scanned the letter.  His shoulders deflated and Bucky watched him sink into his chair - and, really, that told Barnes all he needed to know: the only thing that could make a Rogers admit defeat was proof, and Steve was holding all the evidence he needed in his hands.

"They're shipping you out.  You've got until the twenty-sixth." Steve's voice was pained in a Bucky's best friend didn't like to show.  Bucky nodded, his muscles heavy and worn.  The two sat in silence for a while - Bucky wasn't sure how long.  It could'a been minutes, but it could've been hours too.  It didn't matter.  Bucky was leaving either way.

"When you gonna tell Beverly?"

Bucky shook his head at the question.  His stomach twisted up as Steve straightened again.  The brother's eyes were a blazing fire.  "You can't mean you ain't gonna tell her, Barnes.  You gotta tell her _now_."

Bucky scowled at the demand, crossing his arms like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it.  "I'll tell her when time's running out, okay?  I gotta wait.  You know how she is, Stevie.  I can't-"  His throat closed up as he tried to swallow through the fear.  "I love her so goddamn much, Stevie.  You know I hate seeing her cry, and if I don't come home..."

"Don't be thinking like that, Buck.  You'll come back."  Steve shook his head in that determined fashion the Rogers had down pat.  His voice faltered as he thought back to the previews at the movies.  "You _gotta_ come back," Steve whispered.  His mind whirled at the devastation such a thing would bring to his baby sister.

 

Days later, after the letter had been privately discussed by Bucky and Steve, Beverly dragged the boys to the dance hall.  It was a lovely hall, decorated to the nines, with low lights and smooth music.  The whole place was chalk-full of lively, interesting people.  Unfortunately, neither of the boys had a real taste for it that night.  Guilt and worry could really do it to a guy, especially when it was a Rogers being kept in the dark.

Beverly was the absolute worst to lie to - she seemed to know when they were keeping secrets, and she could turn the cold shoulder one for _weeks_.  Neither Steve or Bucky could keep a secret from her for very long, not because they told her, but because she continuously seemed to have ways of finding out.  It was always worse when Beverly found out instead of being told.  And, although her forgiveness came easily enough, it was difficult to buy back her usually unrepentant trust.

"C'mon Bucky!"The woman dragged the mentioned

The woman dragged the mentioned man alongside her, shoving through the crowds with enthusiasm.  Steve wondered behind the couple, a bored expression plastered on his face.  He was deep in thought, thinking over the concern at hand, with a growing pit of doubt and unease in his stomach.  Turning to find Steve's look of disinterest,  Beverly immediately resolved to solve what she saw as a very pressing issue.  With a roll of her eyes, she snapped her brother's name.  Steve looked up quickly, torn from his thoughts.  He gave a soft smile before ducking his head and sliding to Beverly's side.

"Yeah, doll face?" Steve teased as Beverly curled her slender fingers around his arm.

"Get a wiggle on, Stevie!  I can't wait to kick up some dust." She urged with a hysterical wave of her hands.  Bucky let go of her fingers to accommodate her need for dramatics.  Beverly was excited about the show, and therefore impatient, since later on Stark would be presenting their [not-top-secret] project, the flying car.  She managed to paint it the red she'd wanted, much to Howard's stuttering surprise the next morning, but he'd let it go with a laugh.  Tonight, however, they were first going to the dance hall for a few hours of fun before they headed off to see Stark.

If there was one thing Beverly Lois Rogers loved more than her boys, it was dancing with her boys.  And, good Heavens, could that girl dance.  Beverly knew all the popular swings.  She could tap along to any song you played - the girl was a floorflusher.

And James Barnes suffered through every single one of those numbers, especially on a night like this, when, in a few hours, there'd be tears in those baby blue eyes and a frown on that playful mouth.  Bucky would eventually have no choice but to tell her that he was getting deployed.  Steve just hoped that his friend was going to do it soon, because the longer he waited, the bigger the tantrum that could be throw.

Steve forced a smile when a panting Beverly dragged Bucky - bedraggled but pleased - over to where the older Rogers sat at a table.  His sister's cheeks were red with exertion, flushed from the excitement of the dance she'd just finished.  "Oh, Stevie!" She huffed, nearly falling on top of her brother as she gracelessly collapsed into the booth.  "It's such a riot out there.  Did you know that Darlene Folger's boy is getting shipped out?"

Beverly gave a tusk and a grave shake of her head.  Bucky chuckled as he sat down on the other side of the bench, but the man knew Steve could read the nervousness on his brow.  Sweat was beginning to creep down Bucky's neck, prickling his skin, at the gleam in Beverly's eyes.

" _God,_ " Bucky thought with an internal groan, "why's _she so damn hard to read?_ "

"It's such a shame.  They're supposed to marry next spring."  Beverly's sigh was an exaggerated act, though both Steve and Bucky knew her sorrow was real.  The latter fidgeted as the guilt piled into his stomach like a lump of coal.  Bucky could tell Steve was feeling it too, as he kept his gaze downcast towards the surface of the table.  Of course, their girl was quick to notice.  Those observant eyes burned holes into their skulls as she tilted her head ever-so-slightly to the side, causing her earring to drape against her neck.  Beverly looked like an angel, like that: an innocent star somehow alive in this hell-hole of a world.

"Why do you two look so glum?  We're supposed to be having fun!"

Beverly's laugh was a musical bell ringing out in the dance hall as she slid out of the booth just to do a little spin, twirling on her heel, revealing blazing blue eyes that already knew so much more than the rest of them.  Beverly could'a been the world's greatest actress as she instantly switched personalities to that of berating from carelessly gleeful.  Her foot tapped impatiently on the ground as that melodic laugh faded.  The fatefully arched brow reminded the boys of Sarah Rogers.

"Perhaps it could be someone's deployment nobody had any intention of mentioning."

Bucky's mouth fell open and he doubted Steve fared any better from the surprise.  Before either of them could get a word out to explain or to defend, Bucky's firecracker of a woman was off in a fury of a pout.  Beverly whirled off and away in a furl of swishing fabric and heels clicking furiously on the pavement.

Bucky threw himself onto his feet with his heart clenching in his chest.  "I'll go get her.  See ya at the show in an hour or so, Stevie?" He asked, rolling onto his tippy toes to peer over the crowds so he wouldn't lose sight of Beverly.

"Yeah, go get her.  And Buck," His best friend's eyes sparkled with mirth as Steve suppressed a smirk, "try not to piss her off any more than you already have."

Bucky scowled, though it was less heartfelt than he wanted it to be.  It wasn't like he could really be mad at Steve when Beverly pulled lines like that all the time.  The older man gently shoved at Steve's shoulder in mock irritation.

"Punk," Bucky growled, though it was thankful and Steve knew it.  His best friend sent Bucky off with his bubbling laugh filling Bucky's ears, and the Barnes raced down the street in pursuit of the girl who had become his will to live.

"Beverly." Bucky quickly fell into step with her, matching her fierce pace easily.  "Doll, c'mon." The charmer gave her a little side-smile in the hopes his allure would win him back into Beverly's good favor.  He wasn't all that surprised when he got a nasty glare in return for the effort.

"Hey.  This is a cause for celebration, yeah?  Volunteering to go off and serve one's country?  It's a cause for pride!"  Bucky was ironically aware that his voice held none of his usually happy inflictions as he repeated the mantra Steve had been chanting as he marched himself to every registration center he could find in New York.  The glare grew darker and Bucky let his false smirk fall in defeat.

"Okay, I'm sorry.  I should'a told you that I'd gotten my recruitment letter.  But, doll," Bucky swooped in front of Beverly, gripping her shoulders and forcing the woman to look in his eyes, "running away ain't gonna change the fact that I gotta leave."

"Fine." Beverly bit out.  The straight line of her shoulders slumped and Beverly gave a sore huff.  "I concede to that.  But Bucky, be honest, at least with me.  I know you didn't tell Stevie that you were drafted.  Don't you even dare try to pull that celebration-shtick on me."

Bucky shrunk a little under accusing glare.  Those piercing blue eyes nearly stared right into his soul, and it made him shiver to be scrutinized so intensely.  Bucky shook off the feeling and pushing his fingers through his hair - a nervous habit.  Beverly waited, patiently, for her lover to reply.

"Well, what am I supposed to tell that all-righteous ass?  That I don't wanna go to war when he's pining to save the world?"  Frustrated, Bucky swept a hand over his face, defeated and tired from the past few days of hiding and pretending that everything was fine.  He immediately leaned into the slight press of Beverly's slender fingers to his chest, practically falling into her with relief as the weight of crushing guilt and deceit was taken off his shoulders.

"He would never think any less of you.  In fact, Stevie would believe you to be all the braver for it."

Bucky snorted, rolling his shoulders in aggravation - attempting to loosen the tension that had sunk deep into his muscles.   _Why was she always right?_ Bucky knew Beverly could tell that he'd decided to ignore her words as he pulled the woman into his embrace, but Bucky also knew Beverly couldn't find it in herself to care when, in a few short days, the love of her life would be off fighting in the war.  Her cheek pillowed against his shoulder, tired and heart aching.  Bucky brought his mouth to Beverly's temple, breathing in the scent of the lilac soap she used; it smelt like home.  Rubbing his hands along her back, BUcky breathed out a heavy sigh.

"It'll be alright.  I'll come back.  I'll come back home - I'll come back to you.  I promise."

A few hundred yards away, Steve Rogers stared down Abraham Erskine.  Both were unaware of their connection, of the young girl they both cared for, or of the fate that had already been laid out before them.

"Why have you been so desperately applying for deployment?"

Steve squinted hard at the doctor's question.  His lips pursed in that look both Rogers got when they were about to lay it on thick.

"I don't like bullies." Steve Rogers spoke simply, but Abraham Erskine had gotten the impression that those four words held more power in them than any other answer would ever have.


	10. The Start of a War

December 26, 1941

Under the overhang, couples were scattered around the train's platform.  Steve was leaning on a wall some feet away from his sister and best friend, a camera poised in his hands.  He’d wanted to capture a moment, one he had no idea would change their lives completely.  The couple was exchanging low whispers as the terrifying separation loomed ever-closer.

Steve pulled away, to give them a moment of privacy.  Beverly sighed, leaning her head on Bucky's shoulder as they waited for his train to arrive.  His fingers pushed between her own, and the man brought her hand up to press a kiss to the back.

"You could've told him the truth," Beverly admitted softly in the cold air.  A slow, sad smile curved across Bucky's face.

"And get him started on the injustice of it?  Now, c'mon, Bev.  Don't be ridiculous." Bucky's fae turned downcast as he looked away, scowling at himself.  "I just wish he'd stop looking at me like I'm some sort of hero."

Beverly furrowed her brows, and grabbed ahold of James Buchananon Barnes' collar.  She reveled in the quiet, surprised nosie Bucky gave when she smashed thier mouths togehter, but was relieved as his hands immediantly moved to hold her.  One palm rested warm against Beverly's cheek, while the other pressed against her back to hold his lover close.

"You are a hero, dammit, Barnes.  Even if you're not the conventional, volunteering, idiotic one."

A few miles away, a whistle blew through the air, singing a song full of goodbyes.  Beverly glanced up at Bucky with tear-brimmed eyes, though she'd already cried her heart out.  There wasn't much use for tears, but they'd been falling for days anyway.  Bucky tilted his head back, smiled reassuringly over at the concerned Steve, as his hands circled her thin waist.  His fingers rested lightly on Beverly’s hips, trying to keep himself from holding on and never letting go.

"Doll, the train's coming." Bucky's voice was a whisper as he leaned down, brushing Beverly's ear with his mouth.

It made Steve's heart creak with an old pain to watch them.  It had once tasted like jealousy, but the younger man now knew it was nothing of the sort.  The feeling had drifted off into a quiet simmer, a faint smell of longing and a ping and pining in his chest.

Beverly's brows furrowed at the lazy, charming way her lover leaned against the fences - the pose was just so entirely Bucky it almost mended the hole stretching in her heart.  Just looking at him, Beverly could taste the ash and dirt.  Beverly could smell the smoke from his cigarette and feel the sweat pooling in the center of her back as the low light of the dance hall turned him into a shadow.  With a quiet sniffle, Beverly pushed Bucky's present into his hands.  She brushed tears from her eyes quickly, smiling weakly up at her lover.

"Stevie and I want you to have this."

Bucky held the gold pocket watch with awe, shaking his head.  He ran his fingers over the plating, plucking at the black ivory arrow.  "Doll, this is your father's watch.  I can't take that from you."

Beverly smiled graciously and closed his limber fingers around it.  She beamed a little, happier than she looked in days.  The pain in Bucky's ribs ached a little less at the welcome sight.

"Yes, you can.  This way there aren't any excuses for being late to dinner."

Bucky gave a wet laugh, dropping the watch into his suit pocket before taking Beverly's face in his hands.  Steve smiled as Beverly went into the kiss with joy.  She surged up on her toes, meeting her lover halfway.  It was a sight for the sore, heartsick eyes.  The kiss was long, but Steve never expected anything less than public indecency when his sister had the opportunity for a very public, very emotional goodbye.  It seemed short when the sharp shrill of the whistle cackled through the air.  Bucky gave Beverly a final peck before his train was being called for seating.

"I won't be late, doll.  Promise." Bucky winked as he boarded the train.  He waved from his spot at the window, and Steve had never seen Bucky's eyes look so sad.  He wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders as she stared, watching the train pull away with the tiniest wobble of her lip.

Returning home, the Rogers only found that the apartment had taken on a strange, foreign unfriendliness.  Their home, small and usually cramped, felt empty without Bucky's lively manner.  The piano looked abandoned, sheet music still on the tray, but there was no one to play it.

Steve knew Beverly was taking it hard.  God, it just about killed his heart to watch her wallowing, like some despaired ghost left to forever haunt the earth with no end or relief in sight.  She sat alone, some nights, looking out into the New York winter cold.  Her frame would shiver once or twice before heaving her blankets over her shoulders and slumping down into the couch.

Steve knew it would only feel colder once he left too.

 

January 16, 1942

Familiar fingers brushed Steve's cheek, soft and gently in their prodding to rouse him from his sugar-coated dreams.

"Wake up, Stevie.  Today is your big day."

His sister sounded distinctly tied as she poked at his face, forcing him to leave his fantastical wondering behind in sleep.  Her voice reminded Steve that she was not an inch excited or the least bit happy about his departure to the training yard in New Jersey.  Steve caught her slender wrist in his much skinnier fingers when she went to flick his nose.  Her soft giggle made him smile.  Steve threw his eyes open in a half-hearted glare when Beverly used her other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose instead.

"I'm _up_ , Bev."

Steve huffed as Beverly's slightly blurred figure stood over his bed.  He could see the outline of her arms, the way her fists landed on her hips with teasing disapproval.  He thought she looked like herself, standing like that.  Her dark brown hair was pinned neatly to her head, though some rebellious strands flaked out in soft wisps, outlining the defined curve of her sharp cheeks.  The light shone on half of her face, leaving much of her features to display themselves in Steve's imagination, but he'd seen Beverly's pout so many times that it wasn't difficult to imagine it being curled around her delicate mouth.

"Good.  Get dressed.  Miss Carter is already here."

Steve's traitorous mouth let out a surprised squawk as Beverly's brother shot up, the sheets getting caught around his gangly limbs.  Beverly laughed, rolling those blue eyes with a certain flamboyance Steve didn't understand how a person - a cat, _yes_ \- could achieve.

"Why didn't ya wake me?" Steve asked indignantly as he painstakingly unwound his sheets from his body.  He hated the blankets at that moment and their stubborn, infallible will.  Beverly batted her lashes as she sashayed out of the bedroom, feigning an innocence Steve wasn't sure she had ever possessed.

"You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping, darling.  I didn't have the heart to wake you."

Steve glared at the retreating figure of his sister.  When he'd gotten dressed and managed to pull his things together, Steve hurried to the small living room.  Agent Margret Carter was sitting on the couch, patient and nearly divine in her put-together-ness.  Beverly was perched on the arm of Bucky's chair as if the man himself was sitting there with his arm around her hip.  The sight made Steve's whole body ache with grief, and it made him wonder, if only for a doubtful moment if he should really leave her to be by herself at such a time.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Carter.  Hope my sister didn't give you much trouble." Steve laughed as he offered the woman a hand.  Beverly offered him a horribly affronted look as a smile crept across Carter's mouth.

"Don't worry, Mr. Rogers.  Beverly was a very pleasant hostess."

Something wicked curled Beverly's mouth into a smirk and Steve couldn't stop the " _oh God,_ " from slipping out, even if he had tried.  After Beverly had tucked him into his coat, she stepped outside with the stranger and her brother.  The stairs were long and quiet as Steve's sister silently climbed down alongside him.

"You be good, ya hear me?  No stirring trouble with the other boys.  Don't forget to put on some clean socks." She whispered as his suitcase was loaded into the car.  Steve rolled his eyes as he leaned to peck his sister's cheek.

"Yes, mother."

Beverly schooled her expression into a stern glare, but after using to for so many years, it wasn't as effective.  Steve took her into a hug, afraid by knowing this could be his only chance to do something for the people who had taken such good care of them all, especially those who had helped his baby sister.

"I'll be good," Steve swore as Beverly clung to him.  It was like she was a little girl all over again, searching out the comfort only a big brother could give.  Beverly shoved her face into his neck, and if Steve could hear the sound of tears being muffled against his shoulder, he didn't mention it when they parted.

 

February 25, 1942

Beverly sighed as Erskine brought in the mail.  The doctor had arrived from the boot camp after visiting with out first chosen participant for the Super Soldier program.

"Thank you, darling." Beverly smiled, taking the letter addressed to herself from her brother in his best calligraphy.  She tore it open with vigor, impatient for word of Steve's health and time at the camp.

 _Bev, I've been well.  I haven't gotten sick lately, and I have even managed to impress a few of my superiors.  While things seem to be going swell, I miss you, dearest.  It's strangely quiet without your laugh, and sometimes, all I want to see is your smile.  All is quite well.  I received a letter from Bucky stating the same.  Buck says he misses you.  He really wants some of your potato_ casseroles _\- I must confess I miss your cooking too..._  

A fat tear drop rolled from Beverly's cheek, leaving a wet mark on Steve's signature.

 

February 27, 1942

Abraham Erskine had chosen Steven Grant Rogers as the first participant in the Super Soldier Program, unbeknownst to his sister.  Steve had debated breaking the rules and writing Beverly about it but had eventually decided he'd prefer her to stay in NEw York rather than storm down to New Jersey and shake every bone in his body loose.

Carter had picked him up, and she led Steve down to the secret base - it was under a clock shop, which Rogers found absolutely amazing and clever.  After taking the hidden elevator, they found themselves in a large laboratory.  Abraham offered the Brooklynite a smile, but he never got the chance to speak.  Fiery blue eyes appeared before Steve like a summoned demon.

"Oh, I should'a just known when they told me he jumped on a grenade!" Beverly hissed.  Steve stuttered under Beverly's positively vicious tone.  Her fierce glare - like that of an offended dragon - made him wither in his shoes.  Beverly could be well-meaning when she wanted, and Steve knew that she had a few tricks up her sleeve when she wanted to get her point across.  He figured that was why she had decided on being absolutely terrifying.

"What - What are you doing here?" Steve managed to weakly shoot back, clumsily straightening his shoulders.  Only Beverly could ruffle him that way, make him lose the posture and confidence.  Beverly's eyes narrowed, obviously seeing through Steve's lousy attempt at turning the tables.

Erskine and Howard Stark watched the debate with surprised expressions.  Their eyes flickered back and forth, from one Rogers to the other.  Several of the scientists stared openly as the two siblings matched each other glare for glare.  Eventually, their blue eyes calmed into an understanding of the other's desire to prove themselves.  A smile pulled at Steve's mouth as Beverly linked their arms together, her rage fading into excitement.  Howard had been watching the exchange with an agape expression.  Awed excitement sparkled in his eyes.

"I take it that you two know each other?" Erskine ventured.  Beverly nodded as a curious smile pulled at Erskine's mouth.

"I'm Beverly's brother, the Steve you haven't had the chance to meet." The soldier offered with a smile and a big hand.

"Well," Howard drawled, taking Steve's offered hand.  His other slid into the pocket of his trousers.  "It's nice to put the name to a face, Rogers.  I can see the resemblance."

A wicked grin curled Beverly's lips upwards.  "Hopefully not for long." Her voice was filled with bubbling excitement.

"Nah," Steve purred, "I'm just gonna be the prettier one afterward."

 

The world was blurry when Steve stepped out of the chamber on rubber feet.  The first thing to clearly reach his ears was his sister calling out, "Oh, look!  His hair is thicker!  Someone, fetch a towel!"

"That's what you notice?" Peggy Carter asked, the words full of sparkling amusement.  Peggy's voice was a tease, ringing out smoothly and seductively where Beverly's was purely musical.  Erskine and Stark quickly stepped forward to steady Steve as he rocked, awkward on his new, longer legs.  His eyes widened as he straightened, surprised at the ease and painless arch of his spine.

"We've created perfection." Howard laughed, albeit a little hysterically.  Steve, however, figured Howard was allowed a moment of dramatics after transforming his sickly body into one of a super soldier.

"No, you've _enlarged_ perfection." Beverly's voice snapped, anger and pride twisted together inside it so beautifully.  "Truthfully," She continued, her voice closer now as a towel swept over Steve's face, "you have only enhanced.  Emphasized it, really."

Steve was not disappointed by the sudden change as color invaded his vision.  Glancing up when the towel was removed, he was almost overwhelmed by the bright colors of Peggy, but standing beside the first brunette was his sister, dressed in a soft, pale blue shirt and a pastel colored skirt.  Dark locks had fallen from her bun, curling loosely around Beverly's face.  Brilliantly blue eyes twinkled as a ruby mouth was curled into the brightest smile and Steveimmediatelyy thought that Beverly was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  Some laughed at the widening of Steve's eyes, but Beverly only continued to smile.  Her eyes shone with happiness as if Steve had given her the most treasured thing in the world.

"Here we go.  God, that is gross.  You're all sweat and muscle now." Beverly crooned like a bird as she stepped back with the towel in her hands.  "Aren't you are baby grand now, huh?  Still, the big timer you always were, but now with the billboard to go with it, yeah?"

She laughed.  It was the most delighted noise Steve ever had the pleasure of hearing.  IN that one moment, their lives were nearly perfect - sure, Bucky was out in the war zone, facing GOd knew what, but Steve knew in his bones that his best friend was doing alright.  BUcky'd never broken a promise to Beverly before; Steve was certain that hellfire and an army couldn't make him break one now.

"I can't believe we actually did it." Howard slapped Erskine on the back.  The scientists were equally elated, though they showed it in different ways.

"I think this is a cause for drinks!" Beverly announced.  Steve gave her a disapproving look - a new body had no effect on his penchant for the Face of Utter Disappointment.

"What?  I can't have anything after basically _changing_ the structure of your _DNA_ -"

The celebration was interrupted as the watching box exploded.  One man from the crowd of watchers pulled out a gun, shooting one of the beloved scientists in the chest.

"Abraham!"

Beverly's screamed rang off the walls.  Howard had already pulled her close after the gun went off, blocking Steve's sister from any other bullets.  Beverly's blue eyes were wild as the very last of her innocence was taken.  Brown curls framed the shocked paleness of her face before Howard was blocking her from seeing anything else.  Her hands reached out towards Abraham's last gasping breaths with a cry.  Steve could imagine the tears running down her cheeks as her sobs burned his ears.  Tumbling to Erskine's side, Steve helplessly put pressure on the bleeding wound.  The scientist shook his head.  His voice had already left him, but Steve understood the gesture as the scientist's hand pressed against Steve's chest, pointing at where his heart was pounding underneath.

 _"You don't need to be a good soldier."_ His eyes seemed to say, even as they glazed over with death. _"You just need to be a good man."_

Those words echoed in Steve's ears as he chased down the culprit who dared to steal Beverly'sinnocencee and Erskine's life.

 

March 1942

"I look ridiculous.  Laughably ridiculous." Steve pouted as he stared at himself in the mirror, dressed in the ludicrously outlandish "Captain America" uniform for the War Bonds promotion.

It wasn't that he didn't like it - it _was_ nice, Steve supposed.  The thing was that the uniform, if one could even call it that, seemed to stick to his every curve.  Steve felt like a prize on display, with his every muscle defined and every bulge exposed.

His sister clicked her tongue at him, and her curled hair swung as she shook her head."Now, C'mon Stevie.  You're hardly the type that people laugh at."  Beverly was grinning like the cat that got the canary as she stalked towards Steve.  "Besides, if anyone so much as snickers, they'll have me to deal with," Beverly promised, crossing her heart, before brushing at the invisible lint on his shoulders.  Steve believed that wicked grin whole-heartedly and sent up a silent prayer that no one would dare say a thing about the costume he wore.

"And, you know," Beverly continued, her grin sly, "You kinda look like a drugstore cowboy."

 

Oh God.  Shit, shit, shit.

Bucky had known it was a horrible idea to patrol so close to the French border, but his superior was cocky and eager to prove himself.  Now, the man was face-down in the snow with a bullet lodged in his skull.

Sweat dripped down the side of his face as Bucky dropped his weapon at the German commands being shouted in a terrible, cruel voice.  His knees trembled when his ears caught one word: Hydra.

His troop had heard of the Nazi scientific regiment, but everybody knew Hydra wasn't interested in furthering research on things like cancer.  They were purely devoted to expanding their power, to taking and making, to destroying whatever they came across - or _whoever_ they came across.

The rest of Bucky's battalion waved their hands in surrender as the Nazis came up.  Their faces were just as horrified as he suspected his own looked.  Bucky thought about struggling as a German soldier grabbed his wrists and forced his hands behind his back.   As the butt of a gun was rammed into his stomach, Bucky thought about picking up his rifle and resisting with every last bullet he had in the chamber.  Then, Bucky thought about Beverly: the way she smiled, how the sunlight danced across the crown of her head, the way she looked after he'd kissed the breath out of her lungs, the dazed expression she got when he -

Bucky obeyed the commands of his enemy without sparing the idea a second thought.  He'd promised Beverly that he would come home to her.  He couldn't break that promise, not with the way her eyes had filled with tears as they said goodbye.  Not with the ache in his own chest at being thousands of miles away.

Bucky stumbled when he was shoved but bit down on his tongue - he could taste the salt of blood filling his mouth - to hold in any insults.  Bucky had to find a way back to Beverly, even if it meant getting torn apart.

Two days later, his troop was in a Hydra camp.  They'd been filtered inside and placed in groups of seven to eight, locked away.  It was midmorning, but Bucky'd awake the past two nights.  He shifted, his ass sore from the hard concrete floor.  Bucky had made one of the other guys in his cell take the mattress since the other soldier had been in the worst condition.  Laying against the wall, Bucky's fingers fiddled with the pocket watch, flipping it open just to look at the picture of Beverly's sweet face.  She was the only light in this sadistic version of hell.

He missed her like there was a hole in his skin - a piece of himself was missing and Bucky _needed_ it.  It was a horrible, gnawing need.  It dragged at his mind, dragged it down into somewhere dark Barnes didn't even know existed inside himself.

Bucky snapped the watch shut and shoved it back into his pocket when the prison doors opened.  German was spat back and forth as guards walked the length of the cells.  Their voices were harsh and low as they approached Buck's cell.

"Get the American.  Zola liked the looks of him."  One laughed in English, perhaps for the sole effect of terror.  Dirty hands grabbed at Bucky's arms, hauling him to his feet.  It was a struggle to not resist, but Bucky took a deep breath and held it, trying to keep himself from fighting back.  The breath was knocked right out of him as a fist dug into his stomach.

 

(The Same Day, halfway across the world)

Beverly sat in the first row of the Star Spangled Man, a hand pressed tight against her mouth.  Steve had to fight from letting her distract him, fighting to keep his attention focused on the lines.  While she and Howard had recently been in England, they'd returned to the states to watch one of the shows; Steve would also be crossing the Atlantic with them because he had a show prepared for the troops.  Steve had been hesitant to see them, but the delight on his sister's face as he exited the stage more than made up for embarrassment.

"That was a wonderful performance.  You're really sticking this Captain America thing." Beverly praised, having beating anyone else to her brother's side.  There was something sticky and wet pooling in Beverly's eyes, but she blinked and all you could see was sparkling blue.  Steve immediately pulled his sister into his arms, breathing in that familiar lilac scent.  The traveling had taken a toll, especially since Steve had hardly been outside of New York City and suddenly he was traveling the entire country.

"I loved the dancing girls." Howard snickered before someone was dragging him off for a phone call.  Steve pulled Beverly backstage, glad to have an opportunity to speak with her alone.  He'd missed his sister with a fierceness unlike any other - it was a relief to see that she was alright.  Beverly followed Steve's lead, taking the steps one behind her brother's extended gait.

"You get any more letters from Buck?" Steve asked as the Rogers reached the dressing room.  He didn't really like the costume, and 'Captain America' was glad to strip it off, even with his sister whistling with amusement and teasing him.  Beverly's smile was pinched, false in its origin, but Steve hoped that it didn't mean what he feared.

"I guess they've got busy.  Howard and I did manage to start up some of the electrical breakers that'd gone out in London.  It was nice meeting some of the other scientists." Beverly swallowed, and that mist of giddiness was slipping away to reveal that longing Steve knew was there in those blue eyes.  Steve sighed and swept Beverly up.  She relaxed into his chest, letting out a quiet sob of fear and everything else that had been building up inside her.

 

"You're a strong one, Sargent Barnes.  Tell me, what is it that makes you so brave?" The old man crooned as a soldier strapped Bucky down.  Barnes didn't know what day it was anymore - it could have been weeks or only a few days, but time had started to bleed together until he couldn't tell the difference between minutes and hours.  The American, dry-mouthed and trembling, refused to answer and earned a backhand to the mouth in response to his disobedience.  Arnim Zola tusked, shaking his gray head, and reached out to flick the machine on.  Electricity sparked and Bucky screamed, straining at his restraints.  He bit down so hard on the gag, he could feel his teeth's intentions on his lip, at the painful shifting of electricity through his bones.  Green eyes watered as the gold pocket watch burned against his thigh.  The pain reminded him, though, what he was fighting for.  It reminded Bucky that he couldn't lose - not when his doll was waiting at home.

"Tell me, soldier.  Where are the Americans hiding?"  Zola's voice was soft, almost an endearing tone, and Bucky could see why the Red Skull had chosen the man to oversee the torture of prisoners.  The man was an image of fatherly adoration, and he could reach into your mind and split it apart it with a single sentence.  Too bad Bucky had never been one for a father.

"Never," Barnes snarled, straining against the ties holding him down.  Bucky prepared to spit in the man's face again but was stopped by a sudden jolt ricocheting through his spine.  The groan of agony that escaped Bucky's mouth was entirely by accident and he hated Zola for making him so _weak_.  Hated that he couldn't keep Beverly and Steve safe, not when he was like this: broken and strapped to a lab table in the middle of who the fuck knew where.

Zola gave a short cough, drew Bucky's attention enough for his eyes to dart instinctively in his direction.  The solider steeled himself for whatever was coming next.  The scientist hummed, leisurely pacing the room with a curious expression.  Bucky's stomach twisted when Zola stopped by the fire, his fingers lingering on the iron bar used to tend the flames.

"No one has ever survived this long."

The spindly man mused though he did not offer his cruel smirk as he turned back to face Bucky.  Barnes choked on the poison that had last been injected into his veins, spit clogging his throat and dripping down the corner of his mouth.  Bucky gagged at the taste of blood, spitting it out as well as he could as the numbness of earlier left his face.  Zola watched, eyes narrowed into black beads.  "Tell me, soldier.  Do you wish to be apart of Hydra?"

Bucky glared through the tears blurring his vision.  "Never.  My doll, she's worth more than I am.  I'd rather die before I let Hydra anywhere near her."

Something about Zola softened.  It made Bucky's heart rate spike in terror.  "Yes, I know.  She is quite lovely - the face of a doll."

The golden cord of Joseph Rogers' pocket watch was curled around Zola's fingers.  Unintelligible sputters left Bucky's mouth as he caught a glimpse of the inside.  Zola had torn out Beverly's photo, leaving the watch empty of Bucky's once sweet reminder of home.

"True love, they do say, is the most powerful weapon in the world." The scientist wondered aloud as another needle was jammed into Bucky's thigh, and the American soldier screamed in agony.  "Let us see if it can save you."

 

(Six weeks after Bucky's capture)

It had been raining after Steve's botched performance - Beverly had always believed that rain was a precursor to bad news.  She wasn't wrong as the water came down in torrents and Steve turned away from the table with a horror-stricken face.  Beverly knew immediately that Bucky had been captured - Howard knew immediately that she would stop at nothing to save the love of her life.  In the rainy sky, Howard's plane shook as the lightning slashed at the black sky.  The plane roared, shaking, underneath Beverly's feet.  She held tight to the leather of her seatbelt, terror and worry beating like some savage instinct in her chest.  Steve's expression was stony - hardened by fear.  He looked like some statue, sitting there, with his brow furrowed in thought and his mouth pursed into a speculative frown.  It made Beverly's chest hurt to look at him, to think of how he was risking himself.

But Bucky was missing - warm, sweet Bucky with the charming smile that made Beverly's entire universe complete.  He needed rescuing more than the States' needed Captain America to sell war bonds - all the captured American soldiers deserved their freedom from Hydra's cruel grasp.

After finding out, Steve had been adamant that he go alone on the rescue mission.  Beverly argued furiously with him until he had ceded to allowing her to ride with Howard, Peggy, and he into enemy territory.  Steve was still unsure how she had managed to convince him, and, frankly, he didn't really want to know.  In the cockpit, Howard and Peggy talked quietly as Beverly and her brother were left to their thoughts.

"We're as far as we can get you," Howard called over his shoulder.  Gunfire rang out below, and it all seemed so much more real.  Steve nodded, pressing a kiss to Beverly's cheek, before sliding open the door.  He didn't say a word as the wind howled, but she knew all that needed to be said.  Steve jumped without hesitation, and Beverly inched towards the door, looking out at the world below.  Beverly Rogers couldn't stand not knowing: it was her best and worst attribute because it drove her to search for answers even when there were none to be found.  Right now, it made Beverly sail right out the plane on the tail-end of Steve's jump.  Peggy flailed in her attempt to grab Beverly - any part she could reach - before she followed her brother.

The air was like a million tiny pinpricks as it slapped against Beverly's skin, and she let out a shriek of exhilaration.  Steve had barely caught hold of her jacket, tucking her into his chest, before, it seemed, they were landing.  Steve's face was that awful shade of red it got when he was mad.  Beverly gave him a small smile as she caught her bearings.  Beverly's feet trembled in her boots, sliding in the mud as briars stuck to her shorts.  Steve bodily lifted his sister out of the tumble of weeds.

"C'mon, Stevie.  You didn't think I was willing to let you be a selfless dick by yourself, now did you?"

Her brother's shoulders deflated and Beverly got a stern glare before Steve was leading her through the cold forest.  Ice hung above them, shivering in their perches, and a dusting of snow blanketed the dying grass.

"Can't believe you wore shorts." Steve snapped quietly, his eyes darting to Beverly's bare legs with agitation.  Beverly grinned, though her stomach was twisting and knocked his shoulder with her own.  "Gotta show these legs off somehow buttercup."Steve's

Steve's amusement was belated and he shushed Beverly when they came to a caravan.  The display of strength he gave was impressive and it reassured her decision to not share Erskine's formula.  No one else would use it to do good the way Stevie did.

Once inside the base, Beverly snuck away from Steve's side as he took off down a hallway.  THe woman suspected it was where the prisoners were being kept, but she figured it was smarter to split up.  Steve would've protested, so Beverly took the initiative to split them up herself.

Prancing down the hall, Beverly kept close to the walls.  The halls were cold and eerily empty; it was kinda like that scary horror movie Bucky'd snuck her in to see.  She'd had nightmares for weeks, though Beverly was lucky: Stevie'd always been there to determinedly scare those dreams away.  At the moment, however, there wasn't any Stevie to protect her, but Beverly supposed now was as good a time as any to utilize what she had learned while Steve was at basic camp and Bucky was off fighting in this stupid war.

Shaking her head, Beverly went forward.  The occasional blast of gunfire startled her, reminding the woman of the limited time she had before she was caught wandering about.  Hesitantly, Beverly entered a lab she had come upon.

"Bucky?  Buck?" Beverly called as softly as she could.  The heels of her shoes clicking on the floor were the only sound Beverly could hear.  As she rounded one of the lab tables, Beverly found not Bucky but a strange, glowing blue cube.  It was placed on some sort of pedestal, all beautiful and foreign and, she suspected, dangerous.

"Nerts." Beverly breathed.  Immediately deciding this needed to be out of sight from Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, Beverly reached for the cube.  The glowing light was warm as it curled up her arms and she felt a tug, pulling her closer.  Beverly could not resist.  The moment her hands closed around the blue cube's sides, the world around Beverly was screaming, entirely white as a blazing fire choked the air from her lungs.  Her stomach felt like it was flopping, Beverly's feet tingled as something akin to an electric shock ran up her spine.  She couldn't tell how long she was stuck like that, in the void of blurred shadows, but Beverly found herself on the ground as she came to.

White bangs hung in front of Beverly's eyes, and the change of hair color would have startled her more if there wasn't an unfamiliar voice humming softly in the distance.  Soft hands were pressing against Beverly's forehead, the hands moving to cup the back of her neck as she took to consciousness.  Beverly pushed her heavy eyes open to find an older gentleman, wide-eyed and wrinkled, staring down at her.  "What an interesting reaction." He fawned over Beverly, and her limbs were too heavy to protest.  The cube was in an open suitcase, calling out in a soft whisper, though another pair of hands shut it and cut the siren song off.  Beverly blinked, heart strangled in her chest.

"Good work, Zola.  We will bring the Captain's sister with us.  She can be of use."

Beverly recognized the face of Johann Schmidt without ever seeing it - it was the face that had haunted Erskine's dreams.  She snarled, jerking away as best she could as Zola curled his fingers around her arm, pulling the woman up.  Beverly's legs bent beneath her, and she struggled to hold her own weight, but she still glared at the Red Skull with defiance.

"I won't help you," Beverly snapped.  Her brow was proud, even in its new white color, as her hair flowed around her face and gave the woman an enthralling vengeance that shone in the color of her eyes and the blood spattered underneath her nose from the cube's influence.  Zola's eyes were sad as Schmidt grinned, something wicked entering his eyes.  Beverly's entire body trembled, and she wanted to scream out, but nothing could escape her closed throat.  There was the snick of a knife opening in Schmidt's hands.

"Of course you won't, my dear.  Sit still."

Beverly screamed, scrambling backward as Zola released her and Schmidt's strong hands snagged her elbow.  She went to her knees, and the head of Hydra pressed his weight into her back, throwing Beverly to the floor.  She sobbed as he turned her over, slamming her spine to the ground, as his body nailed Beverly's writhing figure down.  The young girl cried out as the blade dug deep into her shoulder, carving and cutting before there was blood seeping through her shirt and pooling in the hollow of her stomach.

When Schmidt deemed his work finished, he leaned back to inspect it.  Beverly's cries had died out into small whimpers.  She flinched when his rough ringers gripped her chin, jerking those swelling blue eyes to the symbol he had carved.  A fresh sob ripped through Beverly's chest at the permanent scar - the Red Skull's last mark on her flesh and mind.  It was the Hydra symbol, the horrid beast with many heads, standing out like a burn on her skin.

On the other side of the base, Steve had found his best friend strapped to a table.  With luck, he managed to rouse Bucky and get him on his feet.  Now the two sneaked through the base, both agitated and wary and fearful of the sight that could lay around each corner.

"I can't believe you brought Beverly," Bucky mumbled as the two men managed to make their way out into the hall.  It was surprisingly quiet, though Bucky suspected that had to do with the screams and gunfire sounding outside.

"She just jumped right outta the plane!" Steve exclaimed, throwing his palms out in a gesture of complete helplessness.  With a roll of his eyes, BUcky leaned against the wall.  He really needed to catch his breath, though the loss of it was less pressing than the loss of Beverly.

"Really?" Bucky scowled at Steve, who scowled right back.  It was almost reassuring to see that look on the face of his best friend.  It made Steve more familiar than the strange body he now inhabited.  Shaking the thoughts from his head, bUcky pushed himself back onto his own feet.

"Not like I could just shove her back into the plane, Buck," Steve grumbled, catching Bucky when his feet insisted on tripping over one another.  "We were in mid-fucking air for heaven's sakes."

BUcky couldn't help but snort at the provided imagery.  "Bet she loved it, the adrenaline whore."

"I hope Beverly washes your mouth out with soap when we're through here."

"She's gonna have'ta when I'm through with what I've got planned for her -"

"Aw, shut yer nasty mouth, Barnes.  Don't you got any decency?"

"I got about as much decency as your sister has of self-preservation."

Steve lowered his head with a small laugh at Bucky's cheeky smile.  HIs head swung right back up at the unfamiliar laugh that rang out afterward.

"Captain America!  How exciting!"

Bucky winced at the loud volume, leaning heavily on the railing, looking out at the growing flames, before gazing up at the three figures standing on the other side.  Johann Schmidt's slimy fingers were wrapped around a thin arm as Beverly - Steve almost didn't recognize his sister with the shocking white hair - struggled with wide eyes and hollowed cheeks.  She looked like the queen of death, the way the mythological Greek goddess must've appeared as Hades dragged Persephone into the underworld.  It made icy fear curled between Bucky's toes and through his veins.

"BUcky!" Beverly shouted in excitement.  Fear was a cold, dead weight in her stomach.  She did not know what they had done to him, but she could see how weak her lover looked.  Bucky's mouth hung open, inhaling scratchy breaths, and the blood that stained his bruised skin made Beverly's heart hurl itself against her ribs.  There was a red handprint, no doubt still stinging, on the pale skin of Beverly's cheek - a bruise blossomed there, standing out with a stark contrast.  Blood dripped from her shirt, trickled down her arm, and Bucky's stomach squirmed at the thought of it belonging to his doll.

The Red Skull smirked at the look on Steve's face.  He tossed Beverly towards Zola, who stumbled at her weight before the head of Hydra crossed the small, connecting bridge.  He walked towards Steve, Captain America - the man who was supposed to be the symbol of freedom but Bucky knew he only wanted his baby girl safe and sound.

"Your sister was a fool to come with you, especially when she is the last alive to know the serum's formula that made you and me who we are today." Schmidt laughed.  Beverly shrunk into herself with guilt at the revealed secret as both Steve and BUcky glanced at her in shock.

"Erskine could only trust one soul with the formula which made me his greatest success!"

Schmidt's hand rose, fingers curling into the skin of his face and he peeled it off, shedding it like a second skin.  Beverly jerked backward, towards Zola,  when the man - his skin a burning, bloody red - made to walk towards her.  The Red Skull laughed, delighting in her fear.  Any words Bucky had got stuck in his throat as Steve struggled with the desire to just jump and the knowledge that he wouldn't quite make it.

"Well, as fun as it's been," the Red Skull sighed, taking Beverly's arm, "I have a previous appointment I really must keep.  It was nice knowing you, my dear." Schmidt grinned, shoving the girl headfirst over the railing.  Zola's eyes went wide and he almost stepped forward, his hands raising as if to reach out and grab Beverly.  Bucky let out a hoarse shout as his doll tumbled over the edge - heart leaping out of his throat in terror.  Both Steve and he gave a sigh of relief as Beverly caught onto a ledge, but her hands were slick with blood and exhaustion so there wasn't much time.  The boys were sufficiently distracted and Schmidt escaped with Zola trailing hesitantly behind.

 

The man named Jacques had attended to Beverly's shoulder, politely keeping the design to himself, while she marveled over the change in her hair.  She had held too much to walk for long, so the rag-tap group made camp not too far from the destroyed Hydra base.  Soldiers spent a lot of time congratulating Steve, thanking and praising him, but Steve quietly rejected most of their thanks.  His mind was focused on Beverly, who looked like she'd suffered through the same hell Bucky'd gone through.  Her lover could only home that wasn't true.

After camp had been set, Bucky sat on a pallet with Beverly.  She had curled underneath his arm, fingers tracing the bruises that littered Bucky's torso.  Her arms were heavy from Steve's jacket, body covered in an extra shirt someone had managed to find, as her own clothes were discarded and used as bandages for some of the men who'd also taken a hit.  A gasp caught in Beverly's throat at the blistered burn on his thigh.  He pulled her hand from the burn, trying to take her attention away from his pain.  He wasn't quite sure if he should bring up the white strands dancing about her face either.

"That's nothing, doll.  I'm alright, promise." Bucky murmured against her throat, smoothing his hands down Beverly's sides as she let out a silent sob.  Her chest heaved under the force of it - the guilt, the sadness, the fear.

The night passed quickly, Beverly pressed against Bucky's chest with wide eyes.  Neither slept, for too much had happened.  Bucky figured they were both worried about the nightmares sure to come.

When they finally arrived at the base, troops came out to greet them as nurses carted Beverly and the other injured men away.  Bucky was reluctant to leave her side, but Steve assured his friend that he was going nowhere and would stay with his sister.  Some of the nurses that Beverly knew commented on the hair - Howard, however, had the most to say about the after effect from her contact with the blue cube.  He and she started to talk science, and Steve was sure, then, that things going to get better.


	11. In the Middle of War

There was a celebration of the captured soldiers' return - the base decided to throw a jig of sorts with music and beer and laughter.  Howard had called in a favor and had a beautiful gold dress delivered for Beverly to wear.  It shimmered with her every movement, catching on the light spilling from the ceiling.  The dress made the woman feel herself again, after such a horrible day.

It was a big night, Bucky had told him with unwavering certainty, as Howard slipped his friend's lover a simple wooden box.  Howard had smiled as his heart ached with excitement for the future, which seemed to be expanding now, as Steve watched the beloved couple from his spot in the corner.  Beverly, completely unaware of this night's itinerary, had wrapped her fingers around Bucky's upper bicep, content to watch the other dancers for once.  Her lover pressed his mouth to Beverly's forehead before he lazily inclined a hand towards the dance floor.

"You don't wanna jig?" Bucky's voice was conversational, but Beverly heard his growing concern.  Not wanting to worry him, she leaned up to press a swift kiss to his mouth.

"Darling," Beverly sighed happily, "I'd do anything with you."

Bucky, with a smile, rested his hand against Beverly's lower back, leading her into a dance when she knew it should've been the opposite.  Beverly wanted to scold herself for not having been the one to initiate it - she wanted her lover to think that she was alright after the encounter with the Red Skull.

The truth was Beverly could still see his eyes when she closed her own, could still feel his hand trespassing where no man but Bucky had ever been, the way her screams died at the blinding pain of electricity settling into her brain.

"Doll, you okay?" Bucky leaned down, whispered in Beverly's ear.  She nodded against the broad expanse of his chest, hoping he'd take her silent gesture as an answer.  Her feet were tired, but she didn't give it away.  She couldn't, not when Bucky was fighting through sore muscles just to give her a moment of them together after all the separation and heartbreak.  Beverly leaned her head against his shoulder, despite the jazzy tone of the music.  Neither one of the two felt up for a spin.  Bucky led them in a slow, gentle half-waltz that was really more a shuffling of hte feet.

"I love you," Bucky whispred agiasnst Beverly's cheek, breath brushing her skin.  Beverly squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden tears threating to fall.  One fell anyway, and they ended up clutching one another rather than dancing.

"I love you," Beverly whispered back, hiding her face against his flushed neck.  She felt his lips curl upwards where his mouth rested on her temple.  His hand drifted a little lower, but only for a moment, to the side of Beverly's hip.  The reassuring squeeze Bucky gave made Beverly's heart slow down.

(That Night)

Beverly crawled under the scratchy covers with BUcky, who looked quite exhausted.

"Maybe we shouldn't have done that last dance, babydoll." He conceded as his lover flopped onto her stomach beside him.  Bucky let the mattress bounce before settling beside Beverly with content.

"You're the one that insisted." Beverly teased.  Her fingers instinctively reached up to push hair from his face, curling around the strand with a fondness surging inside her chest.  Bucky leaned forward to rub their noses together and elicit a laugh from Beverly.  He pulled away with a satisfied, sideways grin.

"Marry me."

Beverly's fingers froze, her heart stopping in her chest before beating hard against her ribcage.  She whipped her gaze upwards, towards Bucky, whose face was open and earnest.  He wrapped his fingers around Beverly's wrist, brought her knuckles to his lips.

"God, Beverly.  Beverly Lois Rogers, I need you to marry me." Bucky whispered as he dotted kisses up Beverly's arm, over her shoulder, around her throat, against her cheek, and on her mouth.  He rolled them over, Beverly on her back, so that he towered over his doll.  Bucky's smile was soft and wonderful as his hips settled between Beverly's thighs.

"I never wanna be without you, want to know I'll always have you, even if it's just because of some stupid legal paper in a courthouse sitting in a folder, abandoned for the rest of our lives.  I want people to look at you and know, that's Bucky Barnes' girl and he loved her more than anything in this whole forsaken world."

Bucky's declaration shook Beverly off center, surprised her, though not as much as the pretty diamond he offered.  It was simple, set in a single silver band, but elegant in the quietest of ways.

"I know," Bucky whispered, smirk against her shoulder, his tongue dragging over Beverly's collar bone.  "It's not quite as boisterous as you are, but I figured we could get you a new one after the war -"

Beverly cut Bucky off with a kiss, smashing his face in-between her palms.  "It's perfect, you dolt.  Perfect."

Bucky grinned, pushing against Beverly's mouth until she was forced to part for air.  Her lover drew back, giving Beverly room to breath before Bucky was back to smothering her as best he could with his body.

"When this war is over, we're gonna have a proper ceremony doll," Bucky promised as he pressed his cheek against Beverly's breast, feeling the silky fabric of her slip against his skin.  His smile was enchanting and so happy.  "Stevie'll walk you down the aisle, and Donald will officiate with that Irish accent crackling.  Howard Stark will be your maid of honor and cry throughout the entire ceremony..."

Beverly let out a short burst of surprised laughter, smacking Bucky's chest.  He guffawed as if unknowing to the reason for her scolding.  "What?" Bucky screeched, batting his eyes innocently.  "It's true!"


	12. In the Middle of a War (Part 2)

Beverly sat, perched with Peggy, as General Phillips and his commanders surrounded the small table at which Steve was dictating over a map.  Captain America was relying what he had seen on the map in Zola's lab during the rescue.  He had managed to point out various bases the troops knew of, but also several more that had yet to be discovered or conquered.  It was a lucky thing, Steve's improved recall, for with such detailed and important information the Allies grew closer to victory.

"Your memory is perfect." Agent Carter commented, her voice flattering, as Steve finished.  Rogers offered a smile, but a rosy tint climbed up his neck at the compliment.  A soldier had finished putting in the pins, marking the various bases that were in use by Hydra.  Beverly let out a soft laugh, one finger twirling in her own white hair.

"Yes.  It is a certain improvement." She teased, lowering the blush that the brunette had caused.  Steve smiled at her, thankful and warm.

"Now, we just need a group of 'em to bust down Hydras doors." Phillips huffed, bringing attention back to the task at hand.  From the shadows, several soldiers stepped forth.  Beverly recognized them as the former war prisoners they had helped to escape.

"If we could, sir, we'd like to join Captain Rogers in this fight."

 

It had been two weeks since the formation of the Howling Commandos.  Some of the other rescued soldiers had joined Stee and Bucky on their exploits in destroying the Red Skull's troops.  This gave Howard and Beverly the opportunity and an extremely good reason to explore Hydra weaponry.  Howard had removed the power source - the same glowing blue of the cube, or as Howard had called it, the Tesseract - and the two engineers were testing it late in the afternoon.

Beverly jerked when the weaponry's inner power source refused to be cut by the laser, sending out a beam through the glass.  It shattered, sending glass clattering on the floor.  Howard was trying to keep everyone calm, looking over a few of the scientists who had been standing close enough to be injured.  Beverly could hear Howard call something out as she opened the door to the observatory.  Glass crunched beneath Beverly's boots as that humming thrummed in her ears once again.  Howard's voice as he called her name never even registered as Beverly stepped forward, closer to that tantalizing blue beam of light.  Something called out to her, aching, like a past life that yearned to be remembered.  It was warm and sent Beverly's nerves coasting on clouds.

An explosion blasted behind Beverly's eyelids - an intense image - as her fingers came in contact with the blue glow.  Screams echoed in her ears, the sound of an engine catching fire whirring inside Beverly's head as she watched the Red Skull walk along the streets of Brooklyn.  His figure was somewhat faded, ghost-like, but beside him walked another.  The man's face wasn't recognizable, half-hidden by some sort of muzzle-like mask and unkempt hair long enough to whip about his face.

But, _those eyes_.  They were so green and Beverly would have known them in a sea of thousands.  The image flashed by too quickly for the woman to grasp the significance of it, replaced by the blue cube falling into the ocean.  The scene caused something like grief to burn inside her.  Howard's face sped past, his expression far too solemn not to cause concern to rise inside Beverly's chest like a tidal wave.

A scream poured from Beverly's throat as some sort of explosion - mushroom shaped and intense in its fiery blaze - finished the vision off.  It was the most horrific thing she had ever seen.

(After)

Bucky sat with the nurse, who had brought color back into Beverly's pale cheeks.  Howard had rushed her to the emergency room after she had collapsed from coming back into contact with the Tesseract's energies.

"I'm fine, really.  Just shaken up." Beverly assured the doctor as he gave her one more look over.  Bucky shot his doll a glower that Beverly matched evenly with a ridiculous face.

"Honestly," Beverly murmured with her tongue sticking out, "I'm not made of ice."

Steve couldn't help the snort that escaped.  "You ain't made of fucking marble either."

 

(That Night)

_Hands, unfamiliar and rough, cupped Beverly's face.  No matter how hard Beverly struggled, she could not pull away.  Fire was slipping between her fingertips - white and terrifying.  A pair of unnaturally blue eyes flashed before Beverly, wrinkly red skin pulling back in a cruel smile to show gleaming white teeth..._

Beverly threw herself up, scream still dying from her mouth.  Bucky was instantly awake beside his fiancee.  His eyes were wide with panic, but he stilled in his frantic search for what was wrong as he glanced over at Beverly.  In a moment, she was encompassed in her lover's arms, feeling like a scared little girl again, terrified of the harmless dark.

"Shush, doll," Bucky whispered.  Beverly could hear his heart beating underneath her ear.  "It was only a dream."

Yet, something told her, it was more than an ordinary nightmare.


	13. Fall of the Greats

(The Mountains)

The morale was slipping as the front lines grew thicker and more lives were put at stake.  Steve struggled to cheer the others, as he'd never been too good at socializing.  He was always too nervous, too afraid that he would say the wrong thing and the wrong time.  But Bucky somehow managed to always make them smile, even in the freezing cold of the snow-dropped mountains.  The Howling Commandos relied on one another, strength taken from the comradeship they had managed to build.  Beverly always made things feel warmer, too, but she was still at the base as the Commandos went for another mission.  Having gotten word that Zola, along with invaluable Hydra technology and weaponry, would be on a train frequently known to belong to Hydra troops, the group of rag-tag soldiers was sent to intercept.  Steve was hoping that the capture of the Red Skull's right-hand would help both the war effort and the men's mood.

Once on the train, Bucky found himself cornered - Steve was stuck in another cart and Barnes was facing down a Hydra soldier on his own.  Sweat was dripping down his cheek, and Bucky had never felt his heart go so fast since he'd been captured.  He wondered if the Hydra soldier could hear it thudding in his ears.

"Watch out!" Captain America yelled as he burst into the car.

"Steve!" The word burst from Bucky's lips as he evaded a blast, only to hear the metal behind him screech as its hinges were wrenched from the car.

For a moment, it was still.  In that stillness, Bucky could have sworn he heard a scream - one that raised chills along his entire body.  The air sucked at him, yanking Bucky off his feet and dragging him until there was no floor to stand on.  In a panic, Bucky thrashed.  Through sheer luck, his hands caught on a metal rail.  He hung there, suspended in the air by a broken bar.  Steve's boots scuffed across the floor as he lunged, tears already burning his eyes, and pushed a hand towards his best friend.  The door groaned as it began to tilt, breaking from the train.  Steve couldn't reach any further, desperately attempting to take Bucky's hand in his.

Their fingertips brushed, briefly, before there was a roar and suddenly Steve could only see the blinding snow whirling around his face.  He stayed there, unmoving, uncertain, and completely disbelieving that Bucky was gone - just like that.

"Buck." Steve choked out, voice scraping his own throat.  " _Bucky!_ "

When the train had been stopped and the Commandos told of the incident, there had been a looming dark grief that swallowed everything.  It was like a fog in the air, pervading and thick.  Steve hopped off the train with tear stains and a kind of anger he'd never really had before - it was the rage of his father, his mother, of Bucky's ma and pa, and it drove him wild with its intensity.

"You're going to regret that." Steve snarled, stomping forward.  Zola squirmed, stumbling back, as the Captain approached.  While Steve wanted desperately - his every nerve vibrated with the need to hit something - to swing, he clenched his fist and held it rigid to his side.

That was when Steve felt the ache that would never go away.

 

The Howling Commandos ended up getting what they wanted in those snowy mountains.  But the Howling Commandos had lost too - lost brilliant green eyes and a charming wit.  Bucky had tumbled into the snow, miles down from the track, in their efforts.  After the return of the wary soldiers, silence thrived between Steve and Beverly.  It was cold and the tension made Steve feel his failure all the more acutely.  He'd failed her - he'd failed Bucky.  In those few, important seconds Steve had managed to lose what was most precious to his baby sister.  In that short, terrifying moment Steve had lost his best friend.  He'd lost the one person he had been able to count on through _everything._

Bucky had clung to the swinging door, his arm outstretched, but no matter how hard Steve had strained, he hadn't been able to reach.  And Bucky fell, his grip slipping, with that shock and terror in his eyes still resonating on Steve's skin like a burn, a prick of a needle.  He felt it now, sitting in the church pew with his sister.  She had been unusually silent, a statue after she had dragged herself from the wreckage of tears and heartbreak.

For Beverly Rogers, it felt like the world had ended.  She knew it the moment the Howling Commandos had trotted into the torched base, their shoulders sagging and their eyes haunted.  It was the tears in her brother's eyes, however, that had confirmed it - that her Bucky, her universe, all Beverly's hopes and dreams, the love of her life, the man who was the reason she had been created - it was gone.

In the church, Beverly could sense her brother's struggle with faith - she felt those questions waging inside herself as well.  But as she bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut as tears pinched at the corners, Beverly resolved within her heart to continue the beliefs she had clung to since she was a little girl.  Bucky never had a strong faith, but he had always encouraged Beverly when he could.  He'd wanted a life of joy and belief for her - she knew her lover wouldn't want his death to take away from her perseverance of faith.

Even with that strength, Beverly stared into the sorrowful face of her brother as her skin began to turn to ice.  Beverly's knees collapsed under the weight of her heavy heart, and Steve - ever dependable - caught her against his chest.  She died in his arms, that part of Beverly Lois Rogers that belonged solely to James Buchannan Barnes.  To the woman, it felt like every piece of her had been ripped apart, sewn haphazardly back together by the shaking hands of her brother.  Steve's own grief haunted his blue eyes, day after day, until his sister couldn't quite recognize the man he had become.

 

(Three days later)

"You asked to see me, Zola?" Beverly spoke in her most polite tone after Peggy had hesitantly ushered the other woman into the prison cell.  As Beverly entered, Arnim Zola offered a tilt of his mouth.  Zola's smile was sickening in its fondness, and she hated it.  The way he smiled made it seem as if Zola knew everything that Beverly did not.  It made the woman feel inferior, like a mouse cornered by a cat.

"My dear," Zola crooned, straightening as she took the chair opposite him, "I merely desired to give you my condolences.  James Barnes was an extraordinary man - it is a tragedy that his life was lost."

For a moment, Beverly's chest burned with the lack of air.  Grief was a black hole in her lungs, sucking the life from her body.  She swallowed and narrowed her eyes, attempting to regain any composure she may have lost in that brief struggle with emotion.

"You did not even know him." Beverly accused, but it was a lost accusation as Zola's eyes flickered to the side - something horribly _ashamed_ inside them.  Beverly's chest ached, suddenly, feeling the arrival of knowledge that could break her.  Zola knew it, that it would hurt her, but his mouth opened anyway.

"I am afraid while Sargent Barnes was under the Red Skull's confinement he endured terrible, terrible things at my hands."

Beverly swallowed thickly, attempting to keep the disbelief from her expression.  Her stomach churned because she knew what the Red Skull was capable of.  She had seen the tools, the instruments of pain because she had felt that torture - however briefly - in that monster's hands.  Beverly had traced the scars running the length of her lover's body, watching the blisters from burns fade into silky lines of sensitive nerves and raised skin.

"Why would you tell me that?" Beverly demanded, her eyes lit aflame.  Zola glanced back up.  His eyes were burning with grief.  He slowly lifted his hand, placing the gold pocket watch on the table.  The scientist slid it towards her as Beverly stared, stubbornly refusing to let her relief show.  She'd missed the gold, the way it shined in Bucky's hands, and the soft ticking she could hear when it was pressed against her ear.

"Sargent Barnes loved you very much, my dear.  I fear he may have loved you too much."

Beverly blinked before rising from her seat.  The chair rattled from the quick degree of which she stood, but she paid its clatter no mind.  Her chin rose, tilted up, in defiance and anger and dangerous heartache.  A white strand, having escaped the thorough coloring she had done to her hair earlier, swept across her forehead.

"You can't love someone too much.  You - You just can't." Beverly snapped at the startled man.  Peggy opened the door, stepping inside quickly.  Her fingers wrapped around the young woman's elbow and took her from the cell.

"It's alright, sweetheart.  Don't let him rile you." Peggy soothed, but Zola's words had already made their mark.  Beverly's faith was cracked, and suddenly she felt the guilt of a woman had depended too much on the strength of a broken man.

 

(Two weeks later)

Beverly leaned on her hand, bored, as General Phillips spoke.  It had been two weeks since Bucky's fall, and the Howling Commandos had become vigorous in their pursuit of the Red Skull.  The woman could see it was no longer the same desire for justice that called to them - it was a wicked, burning thirst for vengeance that she was sure would never come from the infliction of their own punishment.  A loss, Beverly knew, never really went away.  No matter what you did, how much you paid for it, or how much you made another pay, their presence was still missing and the heartache was still there.

Today, Bucky's absence stuck out like a sore thumb, an empty seat where he'd once been.  Underneath the table, Beverly sought out her brother's hand - his blue eyes had glazed over, reminiscent of some tragedy he had witnessed.  Steve's face was solemn, like a stone, until Beverly squeezed his fingers with her own and the light flooded back into his cheeks.  She watched, her heartbreaking, as Steve blinked away his horrors and returned to the world.

The General had been able to pinpoint a base, at which Johann Schmidt was residing in, but he was way on the decision of their next move.  Steve stirred, something calling the man to action, and he stood.

"We go after him." Captain America, taking Steve Rogers' place, declared.  His voice was strong, the shakes of pain not afforded to his famous persona.

 

(The next morning)

"Be safe, Beverly." Steve murmured, cupping his sister's cheek in a large palm that was nearly unfamiliar to her.  She sniffled, tangling their fingers together, anxious and worried and everything inside her was screaming in protest.  Steve sighed, gentle, bending down to press a kiss to Beverly's forehead.

"Hey, don't cry butterfly." He assured her, letting himself take another breath of that sweet lilac scent that reminded him of when the world used to seem so much warmer.  "This is what I was meant to do - to lay down my life for justice, same as Bucky."

The older brother's voice caught in his throat at the mention of his deceased best friend.  Beverly took a deep breath and nodded, attempting to be brave in the face of catastrophe.  She didn't want to, but she also didn't want to watch the regret flood her brother's face.  Not again.

"I love you, Stevie." She pressed a final kiss to his cheek, not strong enough to truly say goodbye.  Beverly couldn't, because that would mean accepting the possibility that her brother may not come back.  Beverly wasn't ready to face that face.  She wanted to reach out, one last time, but Beverly was to stay with Howard until the Howling Commandos returned from their mission to defeat the Red Skull.  So, Beverly watched her brother go - unaware it was the last time she would see him like that.

Hours later, Steve was on a path headed straight for New York's destruction.  Beverly had disabled the control unit to the plane, allowing for manual control of the mechanical bird.

"Steve, it's on you now," Peggy reported on the radio.  Static sounded back for a moment before Beverly heard her brother clear his throat.  He sounded so terrified, even in that little sound.  Behind her eyelids, she could see the flash of the Tesseract falling into the ocean and the Red Skull disappearing.  She focused on the moment ahead of her, listening to her brother's voice.

"I have to put the plane down."

Peggy gave a silent gasp in surprise, shocked yet understanding of an end she had tried to warn the Rogers about.  Beverly didn't understand.  Her heart stopped dead at Steve's words, but her gaping mouth quickly made up for it.

"Don't you dare, Steve Rogers.  We can figure something out.  There's no need for rushing -"

Steve cut off his sister's protests with a curt " _Beverly_."  It was the strictest his voice had ever been with her.  Beverly had never felt such despair because she knew that she couldn't talk him out of this one.  Steve's voice was a soft whisper as he continued.

"I have to.  I have to do this.  For you, Bev.  If I don't, then you're not gonna reach the full potential I've always known you'd get too.  I gotta do this."

Steve sounded so determined like it was a bully in an alley instead of death that he was facing.  Beverly swallowed down and argument and settled for begging.  She pleaded with her older brother, begging him to understand that Beverly didn't think she could make it alone.  And, perhaps Steve did understand.  Maybe that's why he kept talking.

"I'm going to.  I am going to put this plane in the water, Beverly.  I am going to do it for you..." He paused in his declarations, a sharp hook on his words.  Beverly could hear the emotion rising in his voice as he continued to speak.  "I need you to promise me, promise that you're going to live.  Not just the day-to-day breathing, but _living_ , okay?  I need you to live.  For me.  And God, Bev," Steve sounded hoarse.  Beverly let out a choked off sob, her hand covering her mouth to stifle it.

"If you can't do it for me, do it for Bucky."

The cry ripped from Beverly's throat uncontrollably.  Howard's hand rested on Beverly's should like a heavyweight as Peggy gently held onto her as if that could possibly soothe the pain seeping into her very core.  With hesitance, Beverly swore to live to Steve's last words.

"I promise.  I - I love you, Stevie."

Just as Steve returned to sentiment, the line was filled with static noise.


	14. After Taste of Loss

Her little world had fallen apart in two, short weeks.  In such a small amount of time, Beverly Rogers had lost the opportunity to be Mrs. Barnes and her only family.  Her lover had not been found - soldiers had been searching the mountains since the incident, but his remains had yet to be located.  Beverly knew that time and the snow drifts had made it an impossible task, despite the fact that Howard and Colonel Phillips had both tirelessly worked to reassure her.  And though Beverly should be inspired by such news, since it provided a hope which defied logical reasoning, her heart was still heavy with the grief of her brother's loss.  The days were torturous, but Beverly had made a promise.

Beverly refused to let her eyes fall, lest they slide to the diamond that simply served as a reminder of the love she had lost.  On her finger glittered the ring Bucky'd slid on it with a charming grin and a thousand unspoken - now broken - promises.  Now, the future of pattering feet and sweet giggles was obsolete.  None of Beverly's dreams had ever appeared to matter, hadn't ever, not where fate was concerned.  Steve never got the chance to meet his Mister Right.  He'd never felt the same type of love Beverly had enjoyed with Bucky - Steve never had his true love.

That realization burned the most these days.

" _Silly, stupid promises._ " Beverly thought to herself, wringing her worn gloves in her hands.  Outside her window, another boat let out an obnoxious honk.  For a moment, Beverly could hear the train's bell ringing as she stood on the platform.  The gold watch was in her hands, smooth and untarnished, with her own face gleaming inside.  Bucky's arms were around her and Steve was right beside her and the world was perfect -

The squalls of the birds shook her from her fantasy.  The seagulls battered their wings in swooping gusts, rising into the air.  The ship would be docking soon.  Down the hall of the luxury floor, Beverly could hear two distinct pairs of footsteps.  She could only assume that the second pair belonged to Howard's new butler, Jarvis.  He was an incredibly kind man.  His eyes were warm and understanding, even when Beverly was doing her best to be the most bratty and selfish girl in all the world.  Jarvis and his calm temper had joined Howard and Beverly on their trip to Manhattan, returning on a cruise ship, following the end of the Red Skull.  Peggy had remained overseas because while Schmidt's reign had ended, Hydra and Hitler's armies still remained lethal forces.  Agent Carter had taken command of the Howling Commandos, and she had been doing a splendid job.  The Commandos' new leader was flushing out the rest of the Red Skull's followers, as well as helping with the advancements against Nazi troops.  Beverly knew the battle was not over - it would not be for possibly years.  Even so, with her knowledge of the facts, Howard and Peggy seemed uncomfortable with the idea of Beverly's acceptance of the timetable of which Hydra's fall would come.  While still in England, the two were almost constantly attempted to reassure her of Hydra's fall, which Beverly found suspicious in its own rights.  The woman, however, trusted her friends enough to accept their words at face value - though, that did not stop her from being curious.

"Beverly," Howard crooned as he strode into the woman's room.  The engineers were staying in the same suite, and they took most of their meals together, as long as Stark wasn't busy with plans or phone calls.  Howard refused to let Beverly alone, at least until he deemed her emotionally fit.  it was something she understood, even if she wished her best friend wouldn't worry so much.  It was taking a toll on him.  Beverly could see the bags under his eyes - a tiredness that came from the efforts of war as much as it came from taking care of her.

"Yes, Howie?" Beverly sighed, though not at the presence of her truest confidant.  She was more than grateful for Howard and she enjoyed his company.  Occasionally, however, Beverly wished to sulk and Howard made that impossible.  The older man gave a soft sigh, probably at Beverly's discontented tone, as his hands gently landed on her shoulders.

"Why don't you attend the conference with me - the Massachusetts Project?  It would be a good change of scenery, and you have always been my favorite delight."

Beverly's closest friend tried to tease, his hands squeezing her shoulders.  Anyone, plain as day, could see the hope burning in his eyes.  Howard worried about her immensely, and she supposed she owed the man some relief.  Beverly huffed, entertaining the thought.  "I suppose.  Do you know if Dr. Einstein will be there?  I have looked forward to seeing more of his work."

Howard grinned as if his friend had created a new universe.  "Of course he will if he hears the starlet of the world is going to be there!"

Beverly couldn't help but laugh at his exaggeration.  For a moment, the ache in her chest loosened and Beverly felt lighter than she had since entering Zola's land and finding the Tesseract.

 

(Later that Evening)

Howard allowed Beverly to lead the way up the stairs to her old apartment.  She had shared it with the boys for so long, Beverly didn't think she could stay there - not alone, not without them.  Even the stairwell seemed empty, she couldn't imagine how cold the apartment itself would feel.  So, Howard had offered his friend a spare room in his own home.  He owned an apartment on the upper side, and Beverly was glad to stay with him.  However, she wanted to drop by, because there were things that Beverly wanted from her old house.

"This is it.  This was our apartment." Beverly excitedly thrust her key into the lock and pushed the door open, though it was as stubborn as always.  Beverly hurried inside, grateful to see familiar surroundings once again even if it did bring back kind memories turned painful.  She slipped her shoes off in routine, already half-way across the apartment when Beverly turned to encourage her friend inside.  At the opening of the door, Howard had stood in shock, standing in the doorway as if he was unable to comprehend that three individual people had lived in the one-room apartment nearly all of Beverly's life.  His friend laughed, amused by his flabbergasted expression.

"It was cozy." Beverly sighed, trailing her fingers on the kitchen counter.  It had never been very luxurious, but it was practical - that was what truly mattered.  Her eyes roamed the living room, catching on Steve's desk.  It was crammed full with Steve's artwork, a few paintings resting on the wall nearby.

Jarvis had been a few flights below, having had to park the car, but he now arrived with a few boxes for her things.  Steve's art was packed first, it hurt too much to look at them.  Beverly could only leave out the most recent painting - she wanted to take the painting with her.  It was Beverly's portrait, the one Steve had done for her birthday.  Clothes were folded and put away, along with the odd thing or two that someone came across.  And then, Beverly turned to find that piano gleaming beneath dust in the corner.

It came at her suddenly, the absolute grief, tearing down Beverly's walls until a sob was breaking free.  Beverly had attempted to be strong, she had been doing a good job of it too, but seeing that piano - the music scattered - brought back the pain as fresh as when she had finally been able to comprehend it all.  It was a scorching, searing hurt that spread throughout her limbs almost as if it was physical as opposed to emotional pain.  Howard had soft hands and a lovely voice, but he lacked Steve's rough palms and Bucky's soothing tenor that had always been Beverly's sole comfort within those familiar four walls.  It was that moment she realized the emptiness that was left blank - the open space Beverly feared would never be filled again.

 

(Three Days Later)

Hundreds had shown for the ceremony, the one declaring Sargent James Barnes a war hero and Captain America an idol for American men.  It was a nice gesture, Beverly knew, as she stood to the side as the President spoke of the continuing efforts of American soldiers and the tragedies that were sweeping the troops off their feet.  Donald O'Neill stood behind her, a strong and steady figure in the corruption of Beverly's world.  Howard had ushered them both onto the stage earlier, and his eyes watched the young woman's shaking hands with uncertainty.

"Today, we mourn the passing and celebrate the triumphs of two American soldiers.  Sargent James Buchannon Barnes and Steve Grant Rogers, who was known as Captain America.  We honor their memory by presenting them with the Silver Star." Franklin D. Roosevelt announced, turning to the General of the United States.  The President received the medals before he came to stand in front of Beverly Rogers, the sole relative of both men.

"Your country thanks you for your sacrifice." He whispered as the medals were passed over.  Beverly's fingers tightened on the medals, the ones that should have been pinned to the chests of her boys, as two soldiers moved to offer her two folded American flags.

"If you'd like to say a few words, ma'am." Roosevelt motioned to the stand, where the microphone nearly taunted the grieving girl.  Beverly tilted her chin upwards and nodded.  She had more than a few words to give America.

"My entire life, I was surrounded by two boys who grew up to be men of courage and honor." Beverly began.  "What the history books will say, was that they were driven and brave.  Captain America and Sargent James Barnes will be remembered for their triumphs and the cause that they died for.  But I knew your heroes as two God-fearing men who only knew how to do the right thing.  Steve Rogers, who fought off Nazis and Hydra forces, was the same man who tucked me into bed.  James Barnes may be known as a soldier, but I know that he loved to dance.  I ask that history remembers that - Captain America was a brother, Sargent Barnes a husband.

 

(Two Weeks Later -- The Massachusets Project)

Beverly glanced up at the large building as they arrived.  It was full of the most esteemed scientists in America, and she felt honored to be there.  Howard hooked his fingers around Beverly's elbow, tugging her along.  They stopped at the crowds, Stark pulled into a conversation with a reporter.  Beverly laughed and waved at the crowd, entertained by the shouts and gleeful questions.  Howard stood a few feet away from Beverly, with her hat firmly in his hands and her coat on his arm, as the engineer discussed the continuation of the Massachusets Project and its spectacular crew of scientists with a writer for an important news column.  Peggy, having returned with Daniel Reinhardt in tow, spoke with one of the other scientists.  Security overlooked the crowds, making sure no one became too unruly, as Beverly entertained a group of young girls.

All Beverly heard was the sharp bang of a gun before Howard was yanking her to the ground.

"Beverly!  Dear - A little help!" Howard blustered, frantically searching his friend over while at the same time trying to cover her from whoever had shot in Beverly's direction.  Her arm burned, just below her shoulder, where the bullet had grazed her bicep.  Beverly's heart was thudding in her chest, roaring vehemently against its cage of bone.  Peggy was wrestling a man to the ground as Howard and a security guard stood on Beverly's sides, forming a human wall.  Screams rang out as people scattered, Beverly's feet being pulled forward as hands pressed at her back, urging the woman onwards.  She could only stare at where the bullet had dug into the concrete wall behind where she had been standing, and a small part of Beverly wished the bullet hadn't missed.

It was three weeks later when America dropped two bombs on Japanese soil, killing billions of innocent civilians and ending the second world war.

(Four weeks after the Bombings)

They were celebrating the American victory, though Beverly did not feel as though anyone had one.  Howard told her to keep that political opinion quiet, at least for the night.  He was worried that anyone who appeared to oppose the victory would be severely questioned as fears spread through the country.  Beverly knew he only wanted to ensure that she was safe, so she kept her comments to herself - though Beverly felt things had been settled in an unfair and disastrous manner.  There was a vein inside her that felt relieved Steve and Bucky weren't around to witness such terrible, terrible things done by the work of her own hands.

The car pulled up to the White House and the doors opened, filling the seats with music and laughter.  Beverly peeked out, sight catching on the black suits dotting the roof.  There were journalists and reporters standing at the House doors, but she knew to ignore their demands and jabs much too well to even think of responding.  Howard stepped out first, always the gentleman, and took the brunt of the media's unwanted attention.  Beverly laughed, accepting Peggy's hand out of the car.  She tossed Beverly a wink as the younger stepped out, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

"Why thank you, ma'am..." Beverly trailed off as her breath caught in her throat.  Beverly's voice dried up as her eyes were attracted to the reflection of light on silver.  The Hydra symbol - in the form of a hood topper - sat on the hood of a car, shining prominently and with a daring ferocity.  An officer was already going forward to reprimand the culprit: a cocky young executive who appeared to want to impress his date for the evening.

But Beverly _felt_ it.

The Red Skull's hands burned around Beverly's wrists; hatred and pure destruction smirked in the depths of his eyes.  She could hear Zola's soft croon of reassurance as he attempted to gently place a bandage on the small design slashed into the skin of Beverly's shoulder, his hands quick and comforting in a small unfamiliar way.  The sudden explosion that nearly sent Beverly jumping from her skin and the way that Zola had attempted to cover her as the dust was shaken loose from the ceiling...

"Beverly, are you alright?" Peggy's fingers pinched her elbow.  The touch brought the young woman becak into the present world, a similarly troubling reality, though it was much more real than the past.  Beverly shook her head, drawing in a deep breath.  She smiled easily, but her hand drifted to that spot, where her scar almost seemed to throb underneath the sleeve of her dress."I need a drink."

"I need a drink."

Hours later, Howard was stepping away from the flashing lights, sliding into the car.  Peggy had Beverly's head in her lap.  Her fingers brushed through the younger woman's hair, revealing that the brown curls flowed from white roots.  Fondness cast shadows on Peggy's mouth, and there was an intriguing gleam of sentimentality in her smile.  Howard grinned, gently lifting the brunette's legs and sliding underneath them.  He settled Beverly's knees over his lap before giving the driver a nod.  The car started, allowing Howard to return to his appraisal of his best friend's state of intoxication.

Beverly looked angelic - asleep, breathing coming easy - with her pale skin and dark hair against the red of Peggy's dress.  The girl looked dazzling in the black dress that spoke volumes of what this occasion truly meant to her.  Beverly preferred bright colors - the shades of good faith, she likes to say.

"Thank you, for taking care of her." Howard sighed, running a hand through his hair.  The night had been stressful enough without the reminder of Hydra and what the cult had done to Rogers.  He couldn't take his eyes off the young girl, one who did not deserve the misery life had thrown her way.

Peggy's mouth tilted up in a small smile.  "You are dealing with her in the morning.  Steve once told me that she is awful after a night of drinking."

"That's how my poor car ended up cherry red, you know?" Howard couldn't help but snicker, brushing a stray strand from his best friend's face.  His smile turned into a grin as the brunette stirred, her full lips giving a sloppy pout.

"It is a hot-rod red, thank you very much, Mister Stark.  And you call yourself a genius."

(That Night)

Beverly sighed, crawling across her bed with shaking limbs and a tired huff.  Howard chuckled to himself, hanging Beverly's coat and turning to the closet to search out a nightgown. Having found one, Howard turned back around only to find black fabric being thrown into his face.  He let out a surprised noise, a sort of choking sound, that made Beverly snicker.  She had fallen face-first into the covers, yanking the blankets over herself.  Howard rolled his eyes and left the nightgown on her chair.  He tidied up the room, picking up her shoes, and attempting to clean things up a bit for when Beverly woke in the morning.

"Sleep well, doll."

The young woman's eyes fell shut and she drifted off into a dream...

_"Who are you?" Beverly asked the faceless man in her dream.  She couldn't see his mouth, but Beverly got the impression that her question had made him smile.  He remained silent, but a large hand poured from the shadows.  His fingers curled around her wrist and began to lead Beverly through a long, dusky hallway. Shining gemstones of extraordinary colors flashed across the walls, sending some ancient longing shivering through Beverly's bones.  The desire made her weak in the knees and she tumbled, a want to foreign and yet so powerful in her veins - it was like there was a part missing from her._

_"I am the child of your heart - found and brought into your arms as nothing more than a babe destined for death.  You raised me, cherished me until suddenly I became a thorn, a clay toy who had simply been molded into all you wanted." His voice was shaking, almost as if he was begging for forgiveness, for Beverly to understand.  Beverly breathed out in terrific terror as she realized she was staring into outer space.  He, this man haunting her, was a monstrous thing in the beauty of the stars shining behind him._

_"I had to break free from the mold."_

Beverly shot up in the bed with a scream dying on her lips.  The door was flung open to reveal a panicked Howard in his night clothes.  Jarvis trailed behind as Beverly's best friend frantically looked her over.

"I, I... Oh, Howie."

Beverly fell into his arms and sobbed - tasting a grief that had once been her own.


	15. The Winter Soldier's Beginning

 

( _New York City, New York; the United States_ )

Hank Pym nervously walked up to the door of Beverly Rogers' home, a glorious sprawling mansion that housed more instruments of science than it did chairs.  Knocking was a task that took Pym's courage but relief flooded him when a kind gentleman opened the door.  Jarvis let the young scientist inside, offering him a seat while Howard Stark found his way to the parlor.

"Ah, Mr. Pym.  Thank you for your application.  You will be a wonderful help to Beverly - as long as you don't mind her eccentric tendencies." Howard grinned, strolling from the hallway to meet Hank with an open hand.  Hank smiled, nodding as the two men shook hands.

"Of course, sir.  I'm just glad to be here."

Howard waved him forward, then, explaining the nature of the position Hank was to take on.  They took the stairs down a well-lit hallway, though the walls were plastered from floor to ceiling in magnificent and priceless works of art.  Hank thought he may have spotted a De Vinci, but he was pushed into a room before he could verify it.

Beverly Rogers-Barnes - Hank wasn't sure what she liked to be called and figured it safer to go with both last names just in case - was a vision of a woman.  Long, unnaturally white hair was pulled back to show off the sharp edges of her face.  Though it was often broadcasted as a brunette, Hank himself had noticed the woman's new aptitude for dying it other colors; he suspected this new shade of white was perhaps the culprit, as the result of some wild experiment.  The two men entered the laboratory, catching that famous attention.  Piercing blue eyes glanced up, unconcerned with her guests, before Beverly turned to reveal she had little taste for proper laboratory wear.  She walked barefoot, short skirt brushing her knees, and the only protection Hank could see were the elbow-length red gloves she wore.

"Mr. Pym, how delightful."

Beverly smiled politely at the young gentleman, though her callous posture suggested it was not an inviting grin.  Behind her, different liquids were bubbling and hissing at the lack of attention.  Something popped before fizzing out, only to give off a strange orange glow.  Howard gave a soft sigh when Beverly turned dismissively to attend to her project.

"Darling, we talked about this.  Mr. Pym will simply be joining you as an assistant."

Beverly snorted, looking over her shoulder.  Blue eyes narrowed and Hank shuffled on his feet, suddenly adapting to the feeling that he was very much being analyzed.  A shrug later and Hank found himself shoved to her side, being asked to name the different chemicals she was handling.  Once completing the recital, Beverly's lips squared into a thin frown.  She gave a short, curt nod that Hank thought might be approval.

"Good, I'll leave you two to get acquainted.  Jarvis will ring for lunch in an hour."

Hank tried not to let his panic show as Howard turned, leaving him alone with Beverly and her growing smile.

"First things first, I detest formalities.  I grew up just as dirt poor as anybody in Brooklyn.  Call me Beverly, I'll call you Hank, and we are friends."

She gave a little wave of her hands that seemed to be celebratory.  Hank found himself confusedly mimicking.  Beverly tusked and fixed his technique before grinning delightedly when he must have gotten the dance-thing right.  She was strange, Hank realized, but the kind of strange a woman in her circumstance - or, perhaps, anyone in her shoes - might grow to become from so much trauma and heartache.  It was good strange, the kind that let others know Beverly Rogers-Barnes had not forgotten that life was meant to be lived.

 

_(Somewhere in Europe)_

Above, there was the soft sound of snow gently drifting onto a metal roof, plonking down and dusting the siding in white.  For a moment, it was silent - the silence ringing in his ears like Mozart's Fifth Symphony that night he'd pressed his face right against the organ pipes.  Then, the shrill scream of the wind came back into focus, startling the soldier but he found himself unable to move.

Bucky had never felt so cold before, shivering as he stared at the frost-covered ceiling.  NOt the winter of '37, when their heater had blown out and Steve'd resorted to burning old newspapers in the stove.  Every movement sent pain rocketing through his body, but he couldn't stop - it was too cold.  The ice had seeped into his clothes, past his skin, maybe even sinking into the marrow of his bones.  Bucky felt the chill had enveloped every part of him, inside and out.

After lying there for hours - or perhaps it had only been minutes, he could not tell anymore - Bucky gathered himself and attempted to sit up.  Nausea rose with the dizziness, a wavering fear broiling in his stomach, and it was then that Bucky noticed it, that lack weighing heavy on his left side.

Slowly, to appease the vomit curled at the back of his mouth, he turned his head and looked down.  Bandages were wrapped around his shoulder, blood-stained and tapering into the curve of a stump.  German commands echoed in Bucky's ears as panic seemed to dissolve the disgust into nothing.  It was a struggle to push himself off the bed, landing in the freezing sting of fresh snow.  Hands snarled, gripping Bucky's middle and hauling him back to the mattress.  He tried to fight, but the mass of chemicals in his veins slowly drugged his mind until Bucky could only fall back asleep.

 _It wasn't so bad_ , he thought, _if you close your eyes_.

 

(Two Weeks After Hank Pym Joins - The United States)

Howard had insisted that Beverly join him at a party over in Manhattan, set to be at three o'clock sharp.  She'd managed to wiggle out of too many other social obligations and was resigned to attending the social engagement of some Italian girl one of Howard's old friends knew.  Beverly thought her name may have been Tiana or Maria or some other proper such name - at the moment, she didn't really care so much as she may have if there was not so much work.

In the car, as her chauffeur took them corralling down the streets, Beverly was finishing some final touches on her new prosthetics design.  After so many men had lost their limbs, lost parts of themselves, in the war, Beverly wanted to help them feel whole again.  The designs were rudimentary, at most, but had such potential that she was reluctant to take any sort of break.  But Howard had begged her to come until Beverly had given in, promising to not allow anything short of Hell's eruption stop her from arriving at the party.

Unfortunately, Hell seemed to erupt from under her feet.

Beverly was thrown to the other side of the vehicle, slamming into the door, as something blasted underneath the car.  A short scream had barely escaped her mouth before she found herself lying on concrete, skin splintered with glass.  Hands had hauled her from the wreckage, but Beverly's eyesight went hazy.  She could only see blurry, inconsistent images wavering before her.  From the shadows gleamed a pair of yellow eyes.  They twinkled in the orange light of the flames splashing against the road, twinkled and grinned as if things had all settled into place.  They squinted, narrowing, as Beverly's vision focused on those two yellow eyes, which were so familiar she could have sworn she had seen them before.  Beverly realized it too late.

"Hello, my dear."

Armin Zola greeted, stepping away from the fire's blaze, showing his grim smile and sweaty complexion.  In his hands, he clutched Beverly's design book.  She tried to protest, fighting the magnitude of exhaustion crawling over her bones, but Beverly found herself stuck in that unmoveable place  - it felt like a dream, the ones where you can't move so you have to just sit there and watch everything fly by in a haunting tale.

Then, there were sirens and voices that had grown all too familiar.  Howard's hand was brushing back her hair, those long fingers drawing through, and Beverly blinked her eyes open to find a knitted purple blanket was pulled up to her chin.  She was in a white, singular room - the hospital.  Beverly hated hospitals, and she knew Howard understood it, and she almost opened her mouth to scold him.

Howard's face with lit up with brilliance as he stood, the entire span of his looks a lovely sight, even with his scrunched-up brow and a thick frown that meant she had done something upsetting.  Beverly remembered as his frown perked into a smile, though it was sad.  He shushed the bubbling tears that leaked from her eyes, hands full of comfort as the two friends did not speak for a long while.

"I'm here, Beverly.  I'm here." Howard whispered when the fear became too much for her walls to hold.  Beverly cried, buried against his chest, and found herself hoping he would never leave.

 

(Somewhere Even Worse, An Awful Place, Two Months Later)

Everything was a blur, an electric shock racing down his spine and forcing BUcky still.  He hated being still.  It went against everything he had ever learned - everything he had taught himself.  _God, what if Beverly needs help?  What if Stevie can't breathe and needed to be reminded to slow down?_   Bucky's thoughts were a whirlwind of the past and the present, jumbling together in a confusing mess, but only one thing really mattered to him.  He had to find a way out, back to Beverly...

There was the crash of silver metal against the hard floor.

Bucky jolted awake, instantly wrestling with the heaviness weighing him down into the metal surface that he lay on.  A surprising weight was on his left side, and Bucky flexed the hand - before suddenly remembering with a quick flash of fear and panic that his arm had been torn off during the fall from the train.  There was a short rewind, a moment where Bucky could just picture the way Steve's eyes glinted with genuine surprise as his hands slipped and Bucky fell further away until Steve was only a speck floating off in the snow.

The American soldier swallowed, desperately trying to recall the protocol for being held the prisoner, but the fear broke through his rationality.  Bucky brought the arm up, raising it into the light, and he was shocked at the gleaming silver metal that ripped with a cold shivering glow under the lights.  Hot anger flushed in his chest, and when one of the men - scientists, he would be told - approached, Bucky did not hesitate to wrap his hand around the stranger's throat.  His struggle would be just as useless as Bucky's later, futile attempts at escape.

A burning streak of familiar pain slapped against his stomach, and Bucky released the man with a hiss, unwrapping his new metal fingers from around the man's throat.  Bucky's grip had left thick, blue and purple bruises and he hoped that he had crushed the larynx.  A groan built up in Bucky's throat but he swallowed it down as the sting dulled out into a distant throb.  He looked up, glared hard at Arnim Zola, though his stomach trembled.

"I see you have discovered my gift.  It was very difficult to obtain, you know.  Your doll was not very hospitable.  Of course, if I had told her of the arm's intended purpose, well, I'm sure she would have been more helpful.  That, however, would damage my plans.  No one looks for a dead man, you know."

Bucky struggled, connecting the words, and he pictured Beverly's laughter slicked against his ribs.  Everyone he knew must believe he was dead, and Bucky had no idea of who was still alive out there.  He was unaware of the war's ending, of the time that had passed, or of Beverly's loneliness as she returned from the war as a Widow and without her brother.

Zola gave a sad, short grin.  "Welcome to Hydra, Soldier."

  
(Back in New York)

It was late and Hank had slowly gathered his things in preparation to leave.  The young scientist had already packed his journals since his employer had expressed her desires for the weekends to be left alone.  Soon, he was ready to go home and pour himself into bed.  However, glancing up to see Beverly's study door open, curiosity erupted.  Hank looked back into Beverly's study, finding the woman pretending to read a book.  There was a lack of dramatic flair in her stance, in the way her eyes glazed over, a slow listlessness encumbering her limbs with a certain heaviness.  Pym recognized it - he had seen the same look on his own mother.

"Mrs. Barnes," Hank began, glad to have gotten her attention with the name, "perhaps you wouldn't mind if I staid a while longer?"

A smile flittered across her mouth but she quickly tried to hide it, though unsuccessful if the bloom of pride in Hank's chest meant anything.  Beverly nodded, putting down the small glass of scotch, and waved the boy in.  She was friendlier, in the evenings, when the nightmares were no longer fresh on her mind as they were in the mornings.  Hank knew she had them - He'd caught glimpse of the rapid theories and dreams filling her notebook once.  He didn't tell Howard about them, though years later he would wonder if that had been the right choice as things turned to be just as limitless as Beverly had prescribed.  For now, watching the process of this woman's grief, Hank believed it to be the right thing to allow her mind to take solace in those wonderings - even as wild as they were.

"Do you want a cup?  It's a bit fancy, but you might like it?" Beverly offered.  The scotch was held out to him, a token of friendship.  Hank smiled and took it from her slender fingers with ease.

"Thanks."

 

(Siberia, the Secret Bunker)

"Why don't you just kill me?" Bucky snarled, struggling against the several guards dragging him down the hallway.  His bare feet were slick, sliding across the marble floor from the lack of traction, and his attempts at escape were proving to be futile.  Someone ahead of them gave a low tusk, and Bucky could just see the shadow of someone shaking their head.  It was a slow, calculated movement that reminded Bucky of his drill sergeant - if only for a moment.

"You are much too useful, Soldier."

Two wide doors opened, revealing a room full of instruments that Bucky both recognized and had never seen.  His eyes flicked to the chair, the metal trap, where two plates dropped down.  He could already imagine the feel of the electricity coursing through them - through him.  The rough hands slammed Bucky down, and he couldn't help the shiver of pain as his tailbone smacked into the metal seat.  The restraints on Bucky's chair activated, thick bands of metal wrapping around his wrists and ankles.  Bucky struggled, but it was a useless effort.

In the relative safety of the shadow, Zola peered out at Bucky.  His face was solemn as two soldiers worked Barnes' mouth open, holding his jaw wide as a flat piece of plastic was placed between his teeth.  Two pieces of metal were lowered: one pressed against Bucky's cheek as the other dug into his forehead.  One man began to speak, reading from the notebook given to him by Zola.

"Longing.  Rusted."

It was like the words were a trigger.  They were smooth and almost warm, calming the nerves and anxiety crawling at the back of Bucky's throat.  Then, just as quickly as it all came, the sensation faded.  Panic poured into Bucky's veins.  Yellow zig-zags pulsed in his vision as Bucky jerked, unable to control the throes of his body as the world was set on fire.  His skin felt like it was on fire, buzzing pricks of too much everything until Bucky let out a low scream despite himself.

"Seventeen.  Daybreak.  Furnace."

He thought distantly of Beverly, the wild edges of her laughter, seventeen and fighting in a war that never should have belonged to her.  His mind drifted to how the morning light, being cast off shiny curls, spilled across his lover's bareback.  Bucky thought of Beverly's breathless smile as Steve hauled her over the edge, away from the fire burning below.

"Nine.  Benign."

Beverly's first steps, her first words, her first puffy-eyed glare as her mouth pursed in that soured look - It came to him instantly, these memories of his boyhood.  And his memories tumbled, drowning out those golden years, as his best friend's voice grew rougher over the years.  Bucky thought of Steve's rough voice as the Red Skull challenged him.  He thought of Steve's rough cough as a cold wrecked through his chest.

"Homecoming."

James Buchannan Barnes thought of Brooklyn, the four headstones lined up in a row, and the sound of the music in the dance halls.  There was the scent of lilac, Beverly's soap, pressed under his nose as the soft keys of the piano spilled out into the small apartment.  Steve lit out a sarcastic bite, and his tone growing gentle as that Irish lullaby Steve inherited from Sarah Rogers sung Beverly to sleep when a story wasn't enough to drive away the monsters.

He let his eyes fall shut.

A soft voice whispered beside him, lulling the soldier in, as he felt James Barnes fading away - someone else crawling their way out from inside.


	16. Who Am I?

(In Siberia, After Six Months of Successful Missions)

There had been something thrumming under the Winter Soldier's skin since he woke up - since the burning sensation had dulled and was replaced with a deep longing he didn't understand.  At first, the Soldier had wanted to make it disappear.  He needed to do something, lest he crawls out of his own skin.  Something in the back of his head tried to remind the Winter Soldier that this wasn't him, that there was something missing.  The Solider shook away the thoughts, out of fear of falling deep into himself with no way out.

Perhaps that is why, after missing his scheduled return to his handlers, the Winter Soldier found himself standing in front of a line of four matching headstones.  He was in an unfamiliar city, however, it felt more like home than anywhere else ever had - even in his faint recollections of the life he had once been a part of.

George Barnes.  Winifred Barnes.  Joseph Rogers.  Sarah Rogers.

Those were the four names etched onto the stones.  He could imagine the sound of them, rolling off his tongue, but found himself unable to actually get the words out.  Everything felt too real, too much, even in that peaceful yard where things had actually started to make sense.  The Winter Soldier felt like the world was closing in, there were too many people, too much surrounding him, and he was going to lose himself in the fear of forgetting all he had managed to remember and -

"Lovely afternoon, don't you think?"

That voice - the one who sang in repetition along the gutter of his memory, and the sound of it was his only salvation - echoed behind the Winter Soldier in a perfect accident of the universe.  Immediately, as if he could not trust the proof of voice, the Soldier was turning, turning to match that face with the one blurred within the lines of his mind.  Her name slipped his thoughts, the one thing he couldn't quite grasp, though he attempted to hold onto it with all the power of his tongue.  She was, however, a portrait of his dreams, of his memories, of his everything.  The woman was slender, hair dyed a ruddy brown, with big blue eyes full of questions the Winter Soldier would never have the answers to.

She dropped the arrangement of flowers, seemingly startled, as the two stared at each other with the surprise of realizing the other was no stranger.

The Winter Soldier would not remember moving forward, nor would he be able to recount the way in which she surged to meet him - everything was a hazy daydream, stuck in the propellors of a dazed mind.  The Winter Soldier would remember the moment in which her hands finally grasped his shoulders, confirming that her vision wasn't false.  It would be impossible to forget how her entire being softened as if all the grief and sorrow burning in those eyes had suddenly disappeared.

(Hours Later)

Beverly woke in the backseat of her car, the hood pulled over to hide her from the sun beating down in the fierceness of the afternoon.  She sat up, mind reeling with memories or a dream that Beverly could not tell the origin or the honesty of.  The last thing she could recall was Bucky - though everything about him was different in ways she could not reconcile - had pulled away, a cold hand on her cheek.  It had been made of gleaming metal, shining brilliantly in the sun, but another flash of color had also piqued the interest of the light.  Red, deep red, speckled the silver like raindrops.

 

(Two Days Later)

"I'm telling you, Howie." Beverly pleaded, strewn across her lounge as her face shifted into desperation.  Howard shook his head, jaw set into a firm line, as he started to pick up her scattered journal entries and rapid drawings.  He was understanding, usually, but this latest incident had set his worry from a simmer and into real terrified concern.

"Howard, please.  It was him.  I know it was."

Howard stood still as his best friend came to stand beside him.  Her hands were delicate and gentle as they wrapped around his biceps, and he tried to be kind in his firmness but Beverly had obviously lost touch with reality.  He pulled away.  From his pocket, Howard pulled out a small card.

"I've already set up an appointment with a therapist.  She's the best in the business.  Seeing your loved ones after traumatic events is normal, Beverly, but I... I can't watch you waste yourself like this."

Later that week, Beverly found herself in the office of Bianca Trueworth.  Miss Trueworth was supposedly a well-known and well-respected therapist, even as a woman attempting to dominate the field.  She didn't actually want to be there, and she told Howard such as he walked her up to the receptionist desk.  He had given her a swift kiss on the cheek and eyes that held warnings if she didn't behave.  So Beverly took it to heart and sat, legs crossed politely, on the chaise splayed in one corner of the room.  Bianca was nice enough, offering the other woman a smile when she entered.  Beverly was simply irritated.

"You are attending these sessions to only please Mr. Stark?" Bianca asked, writing down something foolish or an outlandish insight she believed to have gained.  Beverly sighed, standing with an unlit cigarette in her hands.  Bianca offered Beverly a light, but she waved the flames away.

"Howard is my best friend - I don't really smoke.  Stevie didn't like it.  It's just a cathartic motion."

"And do you always do what he wants?"

Beverly shot Bianca a look, unimpressed.

"You obviously don't know very much about me."

The therapist's mouth tilted up into a smile.  She nodded back to the chaise, motioning for Beverly to retake her seat.  "Then tell me.  What do you want me to know about Beverly?"

(That Night)

Beverly had settled, unexpectedly tired after her first therapy session with Bianca.  They'd decided on a medical remedy, a few pills that would keep the so-called hallucinations at bay.  It wasn't Beverly's favorite or original idea, but Bianca had assured her of its success rate and honestly, parts of Beverly desperately wanted to move on without thinking every face she saw was her lost lover.

Beverly was fast asleep when the bedroom door crept open.  Soft footsteps fell, sliding across the floor.  A hand wrapped around Beverly's ankle, rousing her from sleep.  She was not startled, far too used to falling asleep in unseemly places only to wake to Howard or even Pym taking off her shoes and lifting a blanket over her.  This hand, however, was stronger and cold as he unlanced her boots.  Beverly opened her eyes, just to drink in the sight of him - even if, as Bianca had suggested, this was all her imagination.  Right now, in the dead of the night, it didn't matter.

With a soft hum, Beverly let her eyes fall closed again.  The bed dipped as he laid down beside her and Beverly let herself be drawn into his arms.

She woke up alone, as expected for the dreams never lasted through the morning's light, with Jarvis throwing open her curtains in a grand gesture of bravado.  Howard plopped down beside her as Beverly let out a low groan, turning away from the beacon of light Jarvis had let in.  The comforter slipped over her head to cover the other-worldly whiteness of her hair and the dark bags beginning to form under her heavy eyes.  Howard was patient, knowing that once her brain had started ticking, it would take much longer for it to turn itself off than Beverly could manage to fall asleep.

"C'mon, sweetheart.  You promised to join us for lunch." Howard baited as Beverly tugged the blankets over her head.  The woman was silent for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness under her comforter.  Silently, Howard found her hand and pulled it from the blankets.  His touch was comforting and warm.  Beverly resisted a giggle as she peeked out from her cradle of comfort, spurred by memories of a party from months ago.

"Will Maria be there?  You know, the other pretty brunette you have become infatuated with?" Beverly propositioned, a true believer in the romantic.  She firmly felt that there was something between the two, a chemistry developing despite Howard's rambunctious exterior and Maria's quiet front.  Howard narrowed sparkling brown eyes down at her, a smile that revealed all his secrets ambitions involving the other woman spread across his mouth.

"Yes.  I hope you like her?" Howard asked.  His voice was careful, wary of the implications of his question and the multitude of answers he could receive.  Beverly could tell he did not want to enter a relationship without her approval; they were too close of friends to let some fling who could be more get in the way.

"She's wonderful, Howard.  Honest."  Beverly teasingly crossed her fingers over her heart.  "You need to hurry on with it before she finds out what a grump you are."

(That Morning at Hydra's facility)

"He went off the route.  We do not know where he has gone or where he has been going.  This is only one circumstance in a growing number that the Winter Soldier has deliberately denied his orders.  His training has proved to have doubtful results."

The muttering of the soldier's handler was ignored by the head.  Zola was not uninterested.  He was simply frustrated, unwilling to pursue the antidote for his pet project's disobedience.  As Zola watched the Winter Soldier, however, his chest was tight as those hateful green eyes grinned even as the plastic guard was slipped in between his teeth and the metal of the plates pressed against his temples.  The Winter Soldier knew that Hydra was losing their grip on him, that their so-called methods of control were flimsy and unprepared for the memories of a woman who encapsulated the entire world of a single man.

Zola knew exactly where the Winter Soldier had gone, where he always went - James Buchanan Barnes had not died.  He was still deep down, clawing his way out.  And there was only one place, one _person_ who James Barnes still knew.  After all, the woman was hard to forget even when she was not what Barnes had designed as the singular meaning in his life.  Zola knew, then, as the soldiers tortured the soldier into the emptiness of forgetting that he could no longer delay the inevitable.  Hydra would have to acquire another asset, one he had once hoped to never mark again.

"Make preparations.  We will begin the hunt for Beverly Rogers."

 

(Two Years After)

A loud, shuddering bang burst downstairs as Beverly lay, curled under her covers.  Cautiously, she waited, listening to the silence that had followed.  It seemed to drag on forever, the quietness, before Beverly's straining ears heard the faint creak of a door opening.  A soft slam echoed through the floorboards.  Three keys on the piano drifted through Beverly's open bedroom door before the music ended abruptly.  She threw back her covers, worried, and tossed her legs over the side of the bed.  Beverly searched out her slippers with her feet as she dragged her robe from its perch in her chair.  Tugging the pink silk over her shoulders, Beverly tied the belt into a tight knot.  She picked up a journal - the National Geographic was the heaviest thing she could find on such short notice - and eased her way out into the hallway.  The lights were still off, but Beverly could see the dim orange glow down the staircase, reflecting on the marble floors.

She peeked over the side of the wall, looking out into the foyer, and noticed the door to her office was hanging open.  Relief filled Beverly, and she naively assumed it was Howard or Jarvis or even Hank Pym making sure that her things were tidied up for their trip tomorrow.  The group was attending the Treaty of San Francisco, which would hopefully smooth out the bumpy relations between Japan and the United States.  Beverly personally thought the American government should do much more than propose a peace treaty, but she hadn't managed to successfully pass those thoughts along without being smothered by the patriarchy.

"Hello?" Beverly called out as she reached the staircase.  She put the book onto the banister, leaving it there as she began to descend.  Her fingers glided only the glossy wood.  The tail-end of her robe dragged the floor, purring as it slid, and Beverly picked up the excess fabric with one hand, clutched it against her stomach.  Once at the end of the steps, she paused, confused as no one replied.  The only return to or any answer at all to her voice was the stillness in the house.

Out of the corner of her eye, Beverly saw a shadow move.  Turning, she found no one there.  Curious and less bemused, Beverly stopped on the last step, waiting.  Stretching out her neck, Beverly attempted to look into the downstairs hallway, but it was completely dark.  A figure, however, stood there and her stomach sunk, dripping into the soles of Beverly's feet.  She felt a slight tremble in hands - cursed her fear - and tightened her grip on her robe.

He was all shadows and darkness, and for but the gleaming metal hand Beverly would have never noticed him creeping along the walls.  But, she had and now she saw the green eyes that locked on Beverly with a precision that almost frightened her.  The shadow turned into a man, stepping into the moonlight pouring from the grand windows, and Beverly let out a soft gasp.  Then her brows furrowed, angry, and she whirled around on her heel.

"No, no, no.  This is not real." Beverly muttered, frustrated and upset with herself.  The hallucinations had not happened in so, so long - at first she had missed them until Beverly realized she had only missed the hope it brought thrumming into her chest.

_"Beverly, you need to stop indulging in these delusions.  It will only make them seem more real.  You were doing so well.  I'd really like to see you get back to that place."_

Beverly closed her eyes, hearing Bianca's words shatter in her words.  Bianca didn't understand - no one did, actually, but she had come to accept that as two years passed without a single "hallucination," if Beverly really believed that it wasn't real anymore.  Mind made, Beverly shook her head.

"You're not real.  It's not real." She mumbled, stumbling past the shadowed figure lurking in the corner.  He frowned at her, obviously disappointed, but he did not stop the woman as she walked away.  Beverly tugged open her kitchen cabinets, hands searching out the pills with familiarity.  Howard had been purchasing them for her for a while now, after the first time Beverly thought she had been confronted by her "dead" lover.  Beverly jumped when hands - real, flesh, warm and cold metal hands - skimmed her shoulders.  The pills scattered across the floor, rolling along the tile.

"Oh, doll.  I am very, very real." He whispered.  And God, that was Bucky's voice.  It was his hot breath that brushed the back of her neck and it was his touch that spread over her skin like a blanket.  Fear should have sprung up inside her, it should have turned her veins to ice, but all Beverly could care about was the warmth that had finally returned.

Then, she felt the gun stuck into the many folds of his shirt, a thick armor wrapped tight and bulging from his body to shield it from harm.  The thought crashed into her that it wasn't a dream or a figment of her imagination.  The metal hand - pulling her hair away to reveal the scar etched into her skin - was something from her own designs, stolen by Zola so many months before.  Hydra had twisted her hopes and perverted her lover into something dark - something that maybe should never have been brought back to life.

She pulled away, hands shaking as if they were soaked in the stench of Zola, of the Red Skull.  Beverly wanted to hold him, wanted to promise that everything would be fine, that they could run away.  But she remained silent, unable or unwilling to understand everything that was suddenly truth.  Panic swelled in Beverly's chest, but she couldn't move.

"Doll," Bucky purred, emerging in front of her like he'd simply crawled out of the woodwork.  Beverly knew who approached her, knew him so well that the terror started to fade even at the memory of that nightmare from the War - where her lover had walked side-by-side with the Red Skull.  She was calm, rejoicing, even with all the questions running through her head.  Happiness didn't have a logic, it was overwhelming and took over her body.  Bucky didn't hesitate to wrap an arm around Beverly's waist, shocking the breath from her lungs because he was _solid_.  He was _real_.  She grasped the sides of his face, and though he looked surprised the man let her drag their mouths together.  Bucky did not seem to understand what he was doing for a breath until he tilted his head and their mouths slotted together like muscle memory.

The Winter Soldier was confused, for the voice inside his head had finally stopped screaming, as if satisfied by ~~this woman's~~ the target's touch.  He did not understand her effect on him, the world seemed to be both right and set on fire.  Pushing past the hazy confusion, the Winter Soldier reminded himself of his mission.  A gentle pinch dug into Beverly's thigh and she blinked at the sudden blurriness in her vision.  Bucky's brows furrowed, catching Beverly as her legs went weak.  His expression was unfamiliar, blank and cold and distant in a way she had never known.  Beverly struggled, briefly, but the quietness in his eyes stilled her as Bucky looked down, staring at the woman he had once known as his doll.

"Miss Rogers?"

The front door creaked open.  Horror struck Beverly as she stumbled backward, racing to the foyer to warn the young scientist.  The embodiment of her fantasies was faster.  Fear swallowed her in a way that was terrifyingly unfamiliar, as a _bang_ rang out, cutting through the silence of the house.  Hank Pym fell in the doorway, his eyes fluttering in shock, as his hands grasped unevenly at the blood seeping into his jacket.  Hank gasped, shouting at Beverly to run, but her body was stuck in the swell of the waves, her own swaying.

"C'mon, doll."

Beverly's feet tumbled over themselves at the sound of Bucky's voice, clear as day and different somehow.  She gasped, shocked when a hand gripped her upper arm and yanked, slotting her back against a solid chest.  Hank lay, gasping on the floor, and watched with pleading eyes.  Freezing metal fingers scrambled to cover her mouth, painfully knocking against the white of Beverly's teeth.

"Shh," Bucky's voice soothed against the shell of her ear, against the base of her neck, but it was harsh instead of the soft Beverly had known.  She gasped against metal before blackness enveloped her world.


	17. I am Home Again (With Your Body)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola is creepyyyyyyyyy, like gross. Dude, chill out.

Beverly glared at the hunched back of Arnim Zola as two guards dragged her down the hall.  Bucky had been taken away once she had woken, her head in his lap, with the sound of helicopter blades still whirring in her ears.  Beverly had attempted to call out to him, but he did not seem to recognize her voice as two Hydra soldiers shouldered his sides and guided her lover away.  Bucky had looked over his shoulder with curious eyes, for he didn't understand why his entire body seemed to ache at leaving his target behind, the thoughts in his head screaming in indignant rage.  Her tear-filled eyes had sparked something wild inside the soldier, but he was unsure of fighting his handlers, not even for the strange woman who had silenced the constant fevered dialogue in his mind.

Zola now led Beverly down what she assumed was a Hydra base.  Her hair whipped around her face as she struggled against the hold of the two guards.  Her feet - bare, as her slippers had been lost at some point in the journey - skid against the floor as Beverly tried to knock herself free.  When her sabotage proved to useless, she moved onto verbal taunts.

"You'll never get away with this.  Hank'll live and he'll tell everybody what to look for!  Whatever you have done to Bucky, you won't get away with it!"

Beverly snarled with all the false confidence she could muster.  Zola turned slowly and, unintentionally, Beverly jerked backward out of fear when he turned completely.  He watched her for a moment, his attentive eyes unwavering in their exploration: as if he was attempting to dissect Beverly with an impenetrable, fixed gaze.

"I'm afraid, my dear, I already have."

A smile, almost sad, curled across his mouth.  Beverly scowled out of stubborn nature and jumped against the soldiers' hands once more to prove she had tenacity.  "You fucking wait.  Stark'll be here any minute for me and the Commandos -"

Zola's laugh interrupted her.  It was not gleeful, however.  Instead, it was soft and resigned in the way that it tugged his mouth into a deep frown.  "My dear thing, you are so naive."

Beverly could only gape, trying to force out a retort, but Zola had clicked his fingers and she was being dragged once more.  Those burning yellow eyes flickered over his shoulders when the woman let out a whimper as her toes banged into the floor.  For a moment, Zola appeared to be terrifyingly angry.  In an instant, his expression smoothed out into the same mournful look.

"You know, my dear," Zola began as they approached a door, "I hate that things had to turn out this way."

Beverly was shoved through, spitting at the soldiers for all she was worth, past heavy doors.  Beverly declared how Howard would be furious about this, about all of it.  Peggy Carter would rip them to shreds and they'd never see the light of day again.  Hard metal banged against her back as Beverly was pushed backward.  A door slammed shut and she was in a small chamber - the size of a coffin.  The coldness was growing by the second.  Beverly screamed, panicked, trying to wrench her way out.  She slapped her hand against the small window, saw Zola's eyes flash before the world flickered back into darkness.

 

The Commandos had gone out with Peggy, to see if they could catch a still-warm trail of where on earth Beverly Rogers was.  Howard had flown out to the hospital with Pym, who now lay unconscious in one of those horribly white beds in a terrible sight of stillness and Howard was losing his very mind just sitting in one of the stupidly uncomfortable chairs.  After the mess of it all, he was stuck in a small room that smelled of vomit and death.  Maria, the sweet soul, watched him with sad eyes.

"I am certain someone has found some words of her, my love.  They must've, by now."

Her voice was hopeful and soft, and, for a moment, Howard couldn't stand it.  Then, after the rising anger subsided, that wispy tone soothed the knots in his chest.  He let his shoulders fall.  Turning to the woman he loved, Howard reached out to brush his fingers along her cheek.  Beautiful brown eyes stared faithfully up at him.

"I'm unsure what I can do with myself, Maria."  Howard swallowed as his eyes burned hot with unshed tears.  "I'm the one who brought her and Pym into the mess with Hydra.  It is my fault they even knew her name, that Hank is lying in that awful bed."

Maria shook her head and squared her thin shoulders.  "You found her once.  I'm sure you can do it again."

If only they knew, Beverly wouldn't want to be found.

 

(Eleven Months Later)

Zola sighed, _again_.

He was fingering the edge of a photograph, one of several from a book that he had brought to show the soldier.  The past four hours had been an attempt to jog the man's memory, remind him of the woman who he had sought out many times before.  And the Winter Soldier could see that all the pictures were of the same subject, a woman with eyes blue, though he could also see that she had grown through the few revealed to him.  His mind was locked, trapped in steel, and he was unable to recall from where her face had first sparked this gentleness inside his chest.

The Winter Soldier squinted, leaning closer if only to give the illusion he was really trying.  Eventually, he shook his head.  Zola, obviously disparaged, stood abruptly.  His face was unreadable, harsh and empty as his frown tugged his sagging cheeks flat.

"You will come to know her, I suppose.  Let's set a date for tomorrow night, give her the opportunity to warm up.  She is to become your closest ally - You will see."

 

Waking, Beverly was cold.  So, so _cold_.  She shivered, jerking at the rough touch of a towel to her sensitive skin.  The world flew by in pastels, burning reds and oranges before the strangeness of her tiredness faded.  Finally, Beverly was able to move.  She pushed her heavy eyes open to find Zola, along with several soldiers.  Nurses bustled around Beverly but seemed wary as her face shifted into a glare.  A doctor hovered the closest and took her temperature.

"Where is Bucky?" Beverly croaked through dry lips, narrowing her vision at Zola with all the hatred she had within herself.  Zola clicked his tongue, shaking his head gravely as if Beverly had asked the stupidest question possible.  It was a reasonable one, having perched on her tongue for hours.

"You will call him James or Winter Soldier - any variations of those names should be acceptable.  When you are together, I will not permit discussion about your pasts.  Any mention of your brother or friends will result in punishment.  Steer clear of topics involving memories of Brooklyn, your childhood, your parents, and the like.  Each time you break any of the rules, I will have a bone broken.  Of the soldier, of course."

Zola smiled in a way that seemed aristocratic like he had proposed some deal that would benefit all the parties involved.  Beverly scowled, but it was only to mask her fear when the man stepped closer.  He nodded at the young man standing outside the door.  The Hydra grunt carried in a garment bag, holding it up for the head of Hydra to open and pursue.  Beverly watched, some horror growing under her collarbones, as he pulled out a pastel-pink dress that looked like something from the Vogue collections Maria wore and that Howard was always boasting about purchasing for Beverly.  She swallowed, fighting the tears the pulled at some sort of low grief tossing in her stomach.

"Here.  Something nice for you to wear on your date with the Soldier.  I will come for you in two hours.  Be ready." Zola smiled delightedly, smoothing out the pink silk over her bed.  Beverly tried not to shiver, but her skin was still covered in goosebumps after being in the cold for so long.

(That Night)

Beverly had nearly protested at the suggestion that James would hurt her, but Zola's dark eyes had smoothed her mouth shut.  He had explained that the soldier was no longer the same man - James would not know Beverly as _his_.  She was a woman who haunted him, and it made her sad, even if she haunted him in all the ways that counted.  He may have seemed to recognize her that night in her house, but that had nearly been a year ago.  She did not know if Hydra had strapped him down to the chair - Zola had shown her the instruments they used, perhaps to scare her into submission - strapped him down and killed Bucky Barnes.

Entering what looked like to Beverly an old training gym transformed into a large dining room, her eyes caught on the single table comforted by two chairs.  Her feet faltered and Beverly felt sick, unsure if this was the right thing.  But then, she saw him - her heart clenched at the bedraggled figure.  He looked so exhausted, but there was a light burning in his eyes as they swept the room.  Beverly held her breath as those green eyes landed on her.

"I have been told I know you."

Beverly's mouth couldn't speak at the uncaring, so un-Bucky-like voice that projected from the mouth she knew as well as her own.  This was nothing like her dreams, those moments turning out to be real, in the cemetery, in the comforts of her home.  Tears were too hot in her eyes and she turned her head, looked away and down at the cement floor, as they spilled.  It was that moment on stage all over again - that loneliness that burned a hole in her lungs.

"Sorry, sorry." Beverly blurted when Zola made to touch her, to comfort her.  She side-stepped his reaching hand.  Beverly knew that no matter what, she did not want his hands on her skin.  Light footsteps stole her attention, and Beverly could see from beneath her lashes the movement of heavy black boots.  She wanted that - she wanted Bucky's hands, even if it was only the touch of a shell of a man.  She loved him anyway.  Beverly loved him with everything growing inside her.

James took a step forward, towards Beverly.  She swallowed down any sigh of victory at his advance in case it would startle him.  She was giddy, tears drying on her cheeks, simply being near him.  Beverly underestimated his pace and she jumped slightly when fingers tangled in her hair.  The touch was familiar, yet foreign after so long.  The hand instantly retreated and those green eyes darted away, anger sparking like a light in a cave.  Beverly followed it, dissolving into the desire to find someone who she could trust in this eruption of Hell's will.

"Sorry," She blurted again, this time fear rather than disgust squeezing the word out of her mouth.  Beverly did not want him to run.

"You startled me.  I do not mind.  Touch it." She assured, stepping closer and relieved when he did not back away.  Beverly lifted her own hand to her hair, parsing fingers through it in a demonstration.  Green eyes narrowed at her, suspicious, but in the end, those green eyes decided to trust her.  His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they carded through Beverly's hair.  The dye had faded from cryostasis and the ice; her hair was now a pretty white that reminded the Winter Soldier of the clouds from some far off place.

Beverly wanted to ask questions, ask how he was and if he might remember now with his hands in her hair, but she looked back up to find herself silenced by the intensity of the green eyes staring directly into hers.

"I know you," James whispered.  Confusion was written across his face as he tenderly touched Beverly's cheek.  All the air in her chest deflated at the touch, because _God_ , Beverly had missed it so.  She'd missed him more than she had missed the careful hands of Winifred Barnes, more than the soft kiss of her mother, more than the absent father who had branded her life with his death.  The Winter Soldier's eyes darkened suddenly, to quick, as the confusion was swept away to reveal a dark burning anger that must have taken all those years apart from her to form.

"They have hurt you?" James asked, voice brimming with something so unknown it, at first, sent a thrill down her spine.  She then remembered the soldier Bucky had once been, realizing that this man was even more fierce than her lover had been in the war.  Beverly shook her head, though the denial was not entirely true as her skin was still pink with a flaming ache and her head had throbbed from the drugs only now making their way through her system from the night James had retrieved her from the house.  He continued anyway, finally dragging his eyes from her frame and to where Zola stood with guards.

"I remember... I remember you screaming.  You asked me to help you."

The memory, Beverly realized, was as he had been taken away, leaving her in that horrid chamber.  After taking her away from Howard, from Hank and Maria and Jarvis and Donald, from the world.  She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out.

"Who hurt you?  I'll have their blood rust the metal of my hand for years to come for what they have done to my doll."

James' voice was dark, bubbling with hatred and anger.  The way he cradled her face was gentle, but it could just as easily change to match the harsh fire in his eyes.  It was then that Beverly realized she was in love with a stranger, a stranger inhabiting the corpse of James Buchanan Barnes.  And, somehow, that stranger loved her back.


	18. In Your Arms, I Find No One (But Myself)

It had been two weeks since Zola had released Beverly from the cryogenic tomb.

It had been two weeks since Zola had shown Beverly the chains wrapped around her lover, the safety measures preventing him from escaping the grasp of Hydra.

It had been two weeks since Beverly had finally felt at home, ironically within the one place that had nearly destroyed everything precious to her, and the world had become increasingly complicated.

Daniel Reinhardt, somehow, in the depths of his prison cell had sent word of his desire for Hydra to accumulate files from his arrest.  He was curious to the fate of the objects recovered from his possession.  He had stood in as Zola's second, a commander with a will of iron that seemed to nearly always overwhelm Zola's control.  Reinhardt was becoming impatient, demanding the arrival of the files quickly before word of the files was leaked.  To who, Beverly wasn't sure, but she had overheard Zola muttering about a group of World War II soldiers insistent on bringing down the rest of Hydra's ranks.

The files were in the possession of a General, the officer someone Beverly had once known as Colonel Chester Phillips.  Her disappearance had shaken not only the world but also the lives of her once-close friends.  Zola had assured her that Phillips was no different.  She had a connection with the General that could prove helpful in the mission.  With this in mind, as well as her seemingly strong influence over the Winter Soldier, Beverly was nominated to participate in the heist.

Beverly had very little training, though she had been reassured her lover would not allow that to lower the quality of the mission.  If all else failed, the Soldier would pick up the slack.

That is why Beverly, on a chilly September night, was visiting a small town in Iowa.

Beverly followed closely behind the Winter Soldier, the edge of a shadow, as the world careened around them with life.  Several blocks away a school bus was stopped, full of children and laughter that echoed even in Beverly's ears.  Around the corner of the alleyway, of which the Winter Soldier had led them into, was the headquarters of General Phillips.  At her lover's silent insistence, his hand against her back, Beverly allowed herself to be pulled in to the moment.  He led her with diligence, stopping when he knew she could not be as stealthy until the couple stood at the division of the hallway - one leading to Phillips and the files.  Beverly rounded the corner to be surprised at encountering American soldiers guarding Phillips' quarters.  Under their gaze, she froze.  One lowered his gun, peering into the darkness at her.  The other stumbled back as if he had seen a ghost.

"Miss Rogers?" He called, voice confused and frightened.  Beverly blinked and her temples throbbed at the ache that followed the familiar name.  Memories - ones she never wanted to name - flashed as a man with a red face laughed at her.  It was a horrible face, full of nightmares and hatred.  The mere sight of it set her heart racing inside her chest, made her lungs expand and feel as if they might explode.  Beverly stumbled from the fear collapsing her lungs.

A metal hand curled around her waist, dragging Beverly into the safety of her lover's arms.  The Winter Soldier grasped the soldier's throat, squeezing as Beverly tried to gain back her own breath.  These men, in their recognition of her, would have to die: Beverly knew that and she understood the necessity that Zola believed it to be if she was to remain Hydra's best-kept secret.  She turned into the cave of the Winter Soldier's chest, wishing that she could crawl into his ribs and never leave his embrace.

A gunshot rang through the air, pounding in Beverly's ears.  The blood was a warm spray on Beverly's face and she gasped involuntarily, disgusted and frightened.  Rough hands pulled her back, smeared the red over her cheeks, and the Soldier demanded that she run.

"Go," he whispered, nose knocking against her own as if to nudge her away.  "Get out of here.  I'll find you."

For a moment, Beverly hesitated - looking up into wild green eyes changed her mind.  She was turning down the hallway before Beverly even knew she was moving.  Beverly's heart was thundering in her chest at a million miles per hour.  Her head spun with adrenaline, ears ringing from being too close to a gun going off.  Beverly's fingers were still trembling, even as the leather of her gloves grew slick from the snow.

She turned, just a small tilt of the head, to make sure no one was following her.  She slammed into something - hard.  Beverly had no time to pull back and assess her surroundings, for an arm had wrapped around her back, holding the woman against a warm chest.  A hand landed at the nape of her neck.  It was in seconds that Beverly was being kissed, foolishly and recklessly.  It made the fear in her blood simmer.  Beverly knew she was safe with him, the Winter Soldier.  In his arms, there wasn't a soul in the world who would dare harm her.

 

(At the Base of Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate)

Peggy Carter sat silently with Howard Stark in the empty office.

"We know who did this." Her voice held a raw emotion - a tangible, unspeakable fear that had plagued both as Hydra appeared to be gaining strength.  It followed them into the darkest hours of the night and into the bright rays of the morning light.

Howard nodded.  The scene had been gruesome.  The spines of young soldiers severed from their skulls, bullets, and blood spraying the floor, and not a trace of the man who had committed the crime.  There were only small samples of trace evidence, including a cluster of brown hair, discolored a snow-white, along with traces of metal shards in the wounds of the murdered soldiers.  The evidence led nowhere conclusive, only opening new paths and raising new questions that neither Howard nor Peggy were in any way prepared to risk answering.

"Hydra has a ghost on their side."

 

(Hydra Base)

Beverly stumbled out of the bathroom, barefoot, as she struggled to wind her hair into a single plait.  Her hands were still shaking, her body still full of trembles, and Beverly shivered at the memory of the gunshots.  They would echo like all the others she had witnessed during the war.  Pondering about the bedroom, Beverly picked up a book in restlessness.  She let it fall to the bed after skimming the first few pages.  Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the death her lover had left behind.

Her door opened, and Beverly sat up in surprise at the Winter Soldier.  He was half-naked, shirtless as if to show off the scars that had begun to spread across his chest, as he wandered into her room.  There was something in his green eyes that made her wonder if he ever remembered more than he let on.

"Please, let me stay?"

His voice was chilled, but Beverly's throat grew thick with shame at the heat that spread through her at his words.  She nodded, despite knowing James most likely only needed the reassurance of her life, not the spotlight of her attraction or the warmth of her love.  The curl of his mouth matched that smirk James Barnes had never missed the opportunity to wear.  Suddenly, everything felt so much more like home than it had ever since he had begun to remember who Beverly was - who she _is_.

He fell into place beside her, hand already on her skin.  Beverly closed her eyes, safe, and let their bodies fall asleep together.  To herself, she thought that, perhaps, she could welcome this darkness if it meant never falling asleep alone again.

 

(After 3 Years of Being Hydra's Pet Projects - of Cryo and Missions and Death)

The Winter Soldier watched the way in which she so easily settled into the hands of Hydra.  Beverly adapted to the darkness of everything around her until she was beginning to blend in.  It was not long before the woman had the facility running under her thumb, authority questioned only by Zola and the other heads.  James asked for her often, calling for the soft look in her eyes to keep him tied here, in this place that was becoming more of her home than he suspected much of anywhere else had been in a long while.  His green eyes watched, wondering if Beverly was his savior or the wolf.

He was not the only one.

It was three years into their new life when Zola swallowed, hard, as he suddenly found it difficult to meet her eyes.  She laughed an inane sound that bounced around the hotel room.  There was blood splattered on her hands, a streak across her cheek, and even a few dots across her skirt.  Beverly had done a wonderful job of luring the target, a greedy politician, into the elevator where the Winter Soldier waited.  She was an even better motivator for the Soldier to complete his task when another man was running his hands over her hips.

But, that lovely girl she had once been was gone - dissolved in the blood staining their hands and the bullets and the growing emptiness in the Winter Soldier's eyes.  It was a sudden realization that Beverly had, over time, become the monster.

Zola was not surprised with the Soldier asked for a private meeting.  James looked up as he recognized Zola's footsteps tracking into the training gym the next night.

"You asked for me, soldier?" Zola's brow was raised, but the Winter Soldier could read the concern in his eyes.  The soldier grunted, aggravated by what he was going to do, but he knew it had to be done.

"I want Beverly to be put back in cryo.  They're calling her the Black Widow.  She - She was not meant for _this_ , for Hydra. She was built to create empires of goodwill, not whatever you're building.  I will do whatever is asked.  Just, do this for me - for _her_."

A week later, Zola had caved into the Winter Soldier's demands.  The other heads had seen it as a different opportunity, one to truly create the Black Widow.  Zola would be sorry for the deception, but at the moment, he had acquiesced to the desires of others in order to build Hydra higher and stronger.  He would not know the depth of his own regret until the last shudder of his breath.

"Don't be afraid.  You will be fine." James whispered against her cheek.  Beverly crumpled the fabric of his shirt in her fists.  Shaking her head fiercely, Beverly bit back a sob.

"I'm not afraid for me."

She could feel her lover smile as he pressed his lips against her temple.  Under her hands, Beverly was unaware of the way his heart gasped under the squeeze of guilt - a pressure that James was sure would kill him one day.  When Zola motioned Beverly forward, to the chair instead of the cryogenic machine, James leaped forward in rage.  Before he could even contemplate fighting, soldiers had subdued him with the soft whisper of the words he hated.  Beverly hesitated then, looking back to where James was being held in a paralyzed state of instruction.  Unknowing of her own ability to stop their demands, Beverly unwillingly sat, slowly, in the same seat that had erased memories of things most precious to her lover.  She let, begrudgingly, the scientists click metal cuffs around her wrists, around her ankles.  Beverly opened her mouth, baring her teeth but letting the plastic guard settle over her tongue.  She watched the Soldier, who looked almost terrified in the dim light.  Someone flipped the switch and the scream ripped from her throat in shock.

As the burning began, a voice whispered beside Beverly.

" _Your name is the Black Widow.  Your lover is the Winter Soldier.  You belong to Hydra."_


	19. No Light, No Light in Your Bright Blue Eyes

(Two Months after the Black Widow's "birth")

The gunshot rang throughout the theatre, like the church bells ringing at a funeral.  The Parisian actor - witness to one of Hydra's many crimes - dropped in the middle of his monologue.  Beverly, using the code name of Black Widow, blended into the crowds as civilians rushed to escape their seats.  She cast a single glance into the terraces above from which her lover had already disappeared.  Taking a sharp turn in the head of the people, Beverly entered a hallway leading deeper into the theatre.  Her heels clipped along the tile, ignoring the sirens that had begun chiming outside.  She reached a back entrance, stepping out into the alleyway at the exact moment the Winter Soldier dropped down from the fire escape.

Their paths converged and he took her hand in his own as she stepped beside him.

"Coffee and pistols for two?" He asked as they stepped out into the busy streets.  They looked perfectly normal in the evening light of the streetlamps, a couple simply escaping the same threat as all the others pouring out from the theatre.  Beverly cast a look at him, a small smile taking over her mouth.

Together, they disappeared like ghosts.  Their black van was inconspicuous, picking the assassins up without drawing attention.  From the passenger seat, Zola turned and gave them a sickly grin.

"How was the play?"

 

(Two Weeks Later)

The pink of her blouse was unbuttoned, the thin fabric sticking to her skin as the heat of some little village in Israel caused the Black Widow to sweat.  Irritated by the warm air and the lack of activity, she wore a bored expression as if her mouth had been permanently set in that straight unnerving line.  The body at her feet was unrecognizable, the landlord's misfortune for coming upon the Black Widow's web.

The Winter Soldier was at the window with his rifle, waiting.  He had always been far more patient that she was...

After their successful mission, Zola had the two assassins ushered into his quarters, where he lounged on a bed surrounded by doctors.  The Winter Soldier offered an unsure look when his partner glanced at him in curiosity.  Zola cleared his throat, motioning for Beverly to step closer.  James' spine stiffened when Zola took her hand in his shaking ones.

"I am dying," Zola announced.  "Cancer, some form of radiation poisoning, whatever the doctors want to call it."

Beverly pretended to gasp in surprise, feigning sadness over a death that had been kindled in her desires for far too long.  She grinned when they all turned away, a blood-stained smile as radiation flickered between her fingers.

 

(One Year Later)

The Widow's heels clicked quietly on the tile.  It was the only sound in the building, as the soldiers were trained to move without noise.  The Winter Soldier stayed near his lover's shoulder, eyes dark and feral.  Their enemies, if they dared attack, would not bode well in a battle with him.

Finding the intended file room was relatively easy, so it was simple enough to look for their target.  Beverly was flipping through the cabinets when the gunfire started.  She whirled, startled to find her eyes meeting a familiar pair.  Peggy was leading the Howling Commandos - Stevie would've been proud of her - and, for a moment, Beverly could tell Peggy did not recognize her with the snow-white hair and deadened eyes.  A bullet nearly grazed the Black Widow's shoulder before Peggy called a cease-fire in a panic.  Recognition grew in blue eyes, icy gaze melted at the sight of an old friend.

"Stop!" Beverly caught the muzzle of the Winter Soldier's gun as he started to lift it.  His finger instantly slipped off the trigger, mindless at only her demand.  Even unable to remember the beginning of their love affair, he trusted her judgement without hesitation.

"Beverly?" Peggy began, but the Winter Solider shoved over a cabinet.  The loud crash echoed through the building, halting any more conversation.  The Widow's lover wrapped a hand around her bicep, tugging.  His eyes were desperate as she looked back, unsure.  James pulled at her arm again, gentle but anxious, and Beverly looked at James Barnes' green eyes.  She knew, then, that it would not matter if Peggy managed to rescue her from Hydra - her lover was far too entrenched in their blood-slicked grasp to make it out from under their heels alive.  She was not going to leave him behind.

Beverly nodded and followed him.  Orchestrating their escape, the Winter Solider led the Black Widow out of the room after making her ditch her heels.  The dark red pumps were all that the Howling Commandos could find as proof of Beverly Louis Rogers' existence.

 


	20. The Red Room (The Little Spider: Natalia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please bear with me. i know the writing isn't much but i'm having fun, so whatevs!

The wind was fierce as it beat upon her face - cold and harsh while it howled, stirring up snow in delicate billows and throwing snowflakes back in the air like an upset child.  The Winter Soldier stood close behind his Black Widow.  Most of her lover's frame attempted to block the icy flurries from hitting her body, though it was quite futile.  The snow, like the cold, was inescapable.

The couple was waiting for the train. The train was to take the assassins from Slovakia to Moscow.  Their newest handle was escorting them across Russia.  He had a handsome face.  It was proud and full of the bearing of one who knew not of fear.  It was a challenge that called to the Black Widow's very soul and she wished to instill horror in him.

 James inched closer when the whistle blew to signal the train's arrival.  Even though the thicker material of her gloves, Beverly could still feel the metal of James' fingers as he slipped his hand in hers.  It was a reassuring comfort after their most recent separation.  The soldiers filed on the train, following them inside.  The couple came to a nearly empty compartment and their handler rushed them into the seats.  They were a worn blue leather.  Beverly found them pleasing, drawing her bare hand across the material.

Once seated, she leaned her hand on James' shoulder.  She wound her fingers between his once more and held it against her stomach as she snuggled closer.

"You are tired, doll?" He asked.

Beverly hummed and shook her head.  "No.  I am merely more comfortable this way."

Beverly tilted her head up to catch a smile finding its way across his mouth.  As she settled back in, Beverly's eyes found an older woman watching them.  Her eyes were warm and her smile content.  The woman was purely happy to see such a young couple simply enjoying one another's presence.  The Black Widow hoped, one day, she too could enjoy such small pleasures.

After arriving in Moscow, Hydra's greatest assets were directed to the schoolhouse where they would be teaching the new generation of Black Widows, the title belonging to Beverly.  She knew they had been chosen because of their run-in with Peggy Carter.  Zola worried deeply that they would be taken from him.  Beverly was allowed to head to the bedroom they would be staying in, while James had to be taken for a Memory Wipe in order to keep him in the state Hydra wanted.  The woman sat in the small bedroom of the schoolhouse.  Hydra had acquired the schoolhouse for the Black Widow program years ago, for the program was something of a dream for Zola.  He had been preparing for many years, and now finally had the tools at his disposal to make it a reality.

 

(The Next Morning)

Natalia Romanova was the Red Room's top pupil, the most gifted of the young girls Hydra had gathered for their experiment.  Beverly stood in the training ring.  The crowd of children was gathered about, though one of them was thrust forward to the center by the Headmistress who had been in charge of their training and routines until recently as the Black Widow arrived.  The child's nimble limbs were stretched out; her twig-arms aggressively crossed over her chest as her feet stood still. The little girl's red hair whipped about her face like an intimation of flames.  Her eyes were a cold, untrusting green.  The little girl narrowed her eyes as if daring the Black Widow to take a single step towards her.

Beverly smiled at the sight of the prodigy that Hydra had been bragging about for so long.  It was a smile that was broken, hiding the sadness that crept into her eyes.

"Call me Madame B.  I will be taking over your instruction from now on.  Let us begin."

 

(Three Weeks Later)

"Here, Natalia." The Winter Soldier lifted her onto his hip, carrying the young girl down the hallway.  In his other hand, the one not slung under her to hold the child against his chest, the solider showed Natalia the hammer.

"You are going to learn how to extract information from a suspect.  This is not an easy lesson.  I know you will do splendidly."

He set her down as they entered the room.  A man, his figure familiar, kneeled with a bag pulled over his head.

"For today, I will ask the questions while we work on your technique." The Winter Soldier explained as he handed the hammer to Natalia.  She smiled, nodding, with her little hands wrapped tight around metal and rubber.  The Winter Soldier smiled back down at her, pleased they would have an opportunity to bond - even if it was during an unpleasant situation.

Two hours later, the Winter Soldier stopped Natalia's swing, metal fingers gentle around her wrist.

"That is enough."

He voice was a snarl, anger a wonderful shadow on his face.  Natalia - never feeling safer - watched eagerly as he walked around to the man's back, pulling a gun from his waist.  He cocked it, and the man let out a quiet sob.

"Please.  I promise it won't happen again.  I won't touch any of them - not a single one - ever again!" He whimpered, startling when the barrel was pressed to the back of his head.  The Winter Soldier grinned, teeth shining and sharp.

"I know you won't."

The gunshot was loud, in no way muffled by its contact with skin and cloth.  Natalia watched, fascinated, as the bullet came out red and buried itself in the tile floor.

"Come, little spider.  We will clean ourselves up.  Madame must be wondering if we are going to be late for lunch."

 

(Tony Stark - December 3, 1973)

"Aunt Peggy," Tony whined as the toddler wiggled his way into his aunt's lap.  Peggy's arms wrapped perfectly around Tony's sides and he beamed as she smiled down at him.  There was something around the edge of his eyes that warned Peggy that this conversation could be strenuous so she braced herself to answer the inquisitive's child's curious questions.  He, however, surprised the usually unflappable woman.

"Why is daddy sad?"

For a moment, Peggy's smile flickered before it was back even brighter.  She knew it wasn't her place to explain how this day brought back memories that his father couldn't bear to remember.  But, goodness, looking down at the boy even she could see the pain he was placing upon himself at his father's behavior.  Tony had noticed his father seemed rather sad, especially the past few days.  His stomach twisted anxiously, absolutely sure it was something that he had done.

"Why do you say that, sweet boy?" Peggy asked, her hand drifting through his hair in a comforting manner.  Tony pushed at her wrist in irritation, rolling his eyes the way he had seen the characters on TV do.

"Because he looks awfully lonely, but he won't play with me.  Did I do something bad?"

Tony was suddenly being squeezed against Aunt Peggy's chest, but he didn't really mind.  The toddler liked her hugs immensely and had grown to crave the embracing touch of herself and Jarvis - though he valued his mother's cuddles above all others.

"No, never Tony.  Your father is just sad.  He had a very good friend once.  Her name was Beverly." Aunt Peggy swallowed.  The same sadness his daddy had was on her lashes.  "Today is her birthday and I think he misses spending it with her."

Tony snorted, amused with the ignorance of adults.  "Well, why don't she come over?"

Aunt Peggy's eyes glittered with unshed tears.  "Oh, I wish she could Tones.  I wish she would."

 

(1977)

It appeared to have been several years since the Black Widow had seen the girl, her little spider.  Tiny Natalia was now a woman.  The realization was both unsettling and gratifying.  Natalia had grown into her body with a flourish in Beverly and James' absence.  There were curves to her that had not been there before, but with this new figure came new curves that had not been there before, but with this new figure came new challenges.  Natalia knew not the power instilled in her frame, the very control she had the ability to use without fault or restraint.

"Raise your arms, little spider. Your body must be steady.  You need to be fluent in inhaling and exhaling and silence." Beverly instructed, walking around her star pupil in order to evaluate her stance.  The teacher smiled at the correctness of her pupil's position.

"Perfect.  You have been studying?" Beverly asked as Natalia relaxed.

"Yes, mistress," Natalia replied.  Her cheeks had become flushed with pride at Beverly's compliment.  The Widow tenderly brushed her fingers against the rosy tint.

"Not that I do not appreciate such wonderful color on that beautiful face, but we must be careful when showing emotion."  Beverly tried not to scold, but she feared for the girl she had become so attached to.

"It is a weakness.  I will not allow it again."

Natalia's face becomes determined and the Widow had not the heart to tell Natalia that her anger had warmed her face a fierce red.

(Two Weeks after Natalia's Operation)

Zola sat in a lawn chair, watching the Black Widow and Winter Soldier spar gently with one another.  Her prodigy, Natalia, watched with inquisitive eyes and an attentive brow.  Madame B nodded the child forward as the Winter Soldier was caught between her thighs and slammed to the ground.  She smiled, something dark curled in the corners of her mouth.

"Let him think he owns you, but remember: No man will ever own what you do not give."

Her eyes bore into Zola's small frame, hunched with sickness.  Fear spread across his skin, over his body, in a cold chill.  He could remember the day he saw that dangerous look for the first time - only hours after she had woken with the mantle of the Black Widow as her only name.  It was a look that conceded his success in the battle, but it also told him that she did not forget her hatred and anger - she had not surrendered the war.  He would remember this day, this look, in his last moments as realization finally dawned: she was his killer as much as the cancer was, as she had promised in that back room of Hydra's laboratories the day they first met.

Zola was distracted for the moment by his fears, allowing Beverly to lean in close to the girl and share secrets.  Her slender fingers brushed the red hair from hollow cheeks, tender in their hidden moment.

"You are marble, my child.  You must learn to be soft."

Natalia shuffled uncomfortably but leaned into the touch of her surrogate mother.  She loved Beverly as much as a child of her circumstance was able.  She sniffled, sensing something had changed in the Black Widow's demeanor that spelled change for the Red Room.

"I do not want to break."

Beverly laughed, as if incredibly amused.  "Being delicate and breakable is not the same as being soft.  Do not break, but _bend_.  Change and adapt so that you may conquer.  You cannot become what you must if you are marble."

 

(That Night)

Madame B and Winter Soldier were making their nightly rounds.  The Soldier pressed kissed to the girls' heads as Madame B ensured they were locked in tight for the night.

"Mine is loose," Gertrude announced.  Madame B's hand covered the girl's mouth as she made an _shh_ gesture with her other finger pressed to her own lips.  Tears glittered like stars in her shadowed eyes.  As the soldier rounded to Natalia's side, he crouched down.  Into her palm, he pressed a knife and closed her fingers around it.  His expression was grave and heartbroken all at once.

"Sleep well, little spider." He whispered, leaning down and pressing a final kiss to Natalia's brow.

Their pupil did not sleep, even as she heard her mentors settle down for the night in their own room.  It grew late, but Natalia remained alert: her eyes wide open in the darkness.  She stayed awake to hear Madame B's footsteps and see the first flicker of flames that would take her away from Beverly's loving arms.

As the fire grew, it became obvious, in the dawning morning, that life was changing.  Even Zola was furious as they all stood, standing in front of the slowly burning embers where he had placed faith in Hydra's next generation.  From the wreckage, Soviet Union officers carried girls out.  The girls were screaming half-hearted protests.  Russian, German, French, and Arabic filled the air as her students called for them, the Soldier and the Widow.  Beverly squeezed her eyes shut at Natalia's cries.  This was what was best for Natalia.

She needed to escape Hydra before death was all she knew.


	21. A Little Family

(Stark Manor, 1970)

Tony ran down the hallway, clutching to his chest the book he'd stolen from his father's study.  It'd been locked away in some drawer but Tony had managed to pick it open.  It had only taken him three attempts, and the third was because Jarvis had called him to lunch and interrupted his mischevious spree.  The journal had been scattered inside with a few other things, but the pretty handwriting on the front had appeased the toddler in some special way and he'd wanted it immediately.  Now, in his room, the little boy clambered under his bed for privacy.

"Dear Diary," Tony whispered, fixing his flashlight on the pages, "it has been three months since I heard from Steve -"

Tony gasped, immediately realizing the owner of the journal was no ordinary woman.  He turned to give his conspirator, the stuffed rabbit, a look of excitement.

"It's Captain America's sister!  She's the smartest person in the whole world." Tony explained before quickly turning back to the words.  He scanned the pages, searching for any clues to his favorite hero.  She described how the soldier had liked to paint, even including a few funny stories.  For hours he head, until he finally fell asleep with his face pressed against the words - the last link to Beverly Rogers.

 

(Moscow)

"Do you ever miss your freedom?" James asked, his head tilted towards his wife.  Beverly stared at the ceiling as the question slipped over her skin.  The words wrapped around her limbs, tight at first, before releasing her in a slow breath.

"I have you.  There is nothing to miss." The Widow assured him, searching for her lover's hands on the sheets.  James met her fumbling with a strong grasp and he firmly tangled their fingers together.  It was something Beverly had not admitted before - her strong loyalty and the desolation she felt without him - since Hydra had once again taken the small memories he had regained and turned them to ashes.  His fingers tightened on her own, pulling those crystal eyes towards the Winter Soldier.

James swore something - an oath, a promise - and leaned over to press a soft kiss to Beverly's cheek.  His mouth slid to hers in a well-practiced move and soon they became one.

 

1972

Her feet skittered, heels making a strange pattering sound as they skid across the floor, in the middle of Beverly's meeting with the Hydra council.  A Head stood as she swiveled, a thin hand pressing against the growing swell of her stomach.  From his post, the Winter Soldier narrowed his eyes and stepped forward in a gesture of concern.  He had barely come to her side when she disappeared into thin air.  The Soldier's feet were carrying him out of the room as the leaders murmured and snarled in confusion.  Beverly was exactly where he suspected: kneeling over in the bathroom.

Metal fingers held back white hair as Beverly leaned forward, grasping the porcelain edge of the toilet with white knuckles.  She retched, body giving a small heave, as the woman vomited what felt like - to her - the entire contents of her stomach.  Beverly had been perched against the toilet for the past three mornings, and it was beginning to interrupt her training sessions.  While the unexpected pregnancy delighted Zola and his more lively associates to no end, the interruption to her schedule disturbed the heads.  If her schedule was interrupted, then by default the Winter Soldier was no longer on his own strict timetable that he had been on long enough to have developed a routine.  Beverly felt that that was kind've what babies did - take you out of your routine.

"Ugh," Beverly dropped her fist against the porcelain with a grunt.  Her throat was burning and her head throbbed as if she had been thrown against a wall.  Her stomach was doing somersaults and her feet felt like they had been turned into balloons and then popped.

"Just take me out now." She ordered, waving a lazy hand through the air.  The Winter Soldier caught the limb, tugging it to his chest as she slowly sat back up.  Her lover chuckled, gentle even in his gear, as Beverly dropped her head back down to the cold toilet seat.  It had been officially blocked off to the soldiers after it became apparent she wasn't going to stop blowing chunks anytime soon.  James' lips were soft against her shoulder, a kiss that sent her heart fluttering.

"Never, doll."

Beverly groaned at his romantic notions.  Couldn't he see that she was suffering?  This horrible sickness - though it would lead to an acceptably satisfying conclusion - was gosh-darn awful.  Beverly whined, leaning her head back.  She was satisfied when she found his shoulder prepared to support her.  _This_ , the constant touching and closeness, was something she could get used to.

 

(Four years and 7 months later)

Something in the Winter Soldier's chest tightened at the sound of tiny feet.  He tilted his chin, glancing at the ring of children playing by the fountain.  He sat in the town's square quietly, waiting.  A feminine figure exited one of the shops, clutching to her hip a little boy whose laughter was the only sound that could set the Winter Soldier's shoulders at ease these days.

Beverly glanced at her husband and smiled.  She released the young boy, who fled towards the assassin as soon as he caught sight of him.  Something in James' chest ached as blue eyes looked up at him, blonde hair curling over his child's forehead in a way that was horrifyingly familiar.  The Soldier shook his head, knowing that such memories had no place with them now.  Instead, he offered his son the soon-to-be favorite toy, a llama, to play with.

"Here, Pyotr.  Your mother had one too." James didn't know where the information came from, but Pyotr was hardly listening anyway.

"Ya-ya!" Pyotr exclaimed, taking it with an excited smile and crushing the stuffed animal against his chest with joy.  Beverly smiled, pleased, as she took a seat beside the pair.

James would look back on this moment for a decade after, thinking it was the last time they were happy as a little family.

(THAT NIGHT)

Beverly could feel James watching her as she lay in bed.  His eyes followed his wife's every move, secure in the knowledge that their son was tucked away in his crib only a few feet away.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?" Beverly tried to keep her voice teasing, but she couldn't quite manage the joking lilt.  Soft footsteps followed her words, a thoughtful silence filling the Black Widow's stomach with dread.

"I'm afraid not, doll.  They ship me out in the morning."

The scene was almost too familiar.  They'd been through this a thousand times, it seemed.  It always felt worse, but nothing was compared to the first time in 1942.  James' lips pressed against Beverly's shoulder before he was rounding the bed, his fingers tangling in her hair.  She let out a quiet sigh as they brushed her cheek.

"I don't want you to go," Beverly whispered, clutching the sheets in her fists as if that would help hold the sob at bay.  James crouched down.  His green eyes were earnest and filled with the same conviction she'd seen that night he'd told Beverly he was being sent off to war.

"I'll come back to you, Beverly.  I always do, don't I?"

The sob released itself from Beverly's chest by its own conviction.  "Shush, doll.  Please don't cry."

"I can't help it.  I fear for you." Beverly whispered as she sat up.  The Widow gasped in exhilaration as he cupped her face, bringing their mouths together.

"That's the difference between you and the rest of the world, doll.  They fear me.  I gotta make sure it stays that way."

(THE NEXT AFTERNOON)

The Winter Soldier knew the year was close to 1978.  He supposed that it may even be that year, but he was not supposed to keep track.  It did not matter if the soldier knew the year or not.  What mattered was finishing the mission and returning to Beverly and Pyotr - to his little family.

However, James could not seem to kill these particular targets.  Not because of obstacles.  He'd had a clear shot for over thirty minutes now.  His finger just wouldn't slip back, glide the trigger and end his mission.  Something, some emotion, was forbidding him to do so.  Perhaps it was the man's face.  It reminded James of a photo the Widow had on the nightstand - but the Russians wanted the man and his wife dead.  James was too captivated by the young man who argued with the target - obviously father and son.  The latter reminded the Winter Soldier of someone from his own youth.

Fear unlike any he had ever felt before froze the Winter Soldier in place when the young man's eyes - in an impressive and dramatic eye-roll - caught sight of the assassin perched in the trees.  The kid made a sound, spoke too fast for James to really understand before the target was ushering him and his wife inside their house.  Another woman, older now but he had seen her before, came out and James knew it was time to escape.  The boy tried to fight his father's grip, earning a harsh " _Tony, get inside!"_

......

His handler's footsteps were slow, calculated in a way that made the Winter Soldier's veins turn to ice.  He could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

 _"What did I do?"_ He thought, silently running over the situation in his head over and over again - obsessed with the failure.

"We will play the thing off as a kidnapping.  You will not have your son returned to you and the Widow will suffer." The Russian paused.  His handler paused, turning with a sick grin.  He welcomed the shadowed figure standing to the side - James didn't know this one's name but he knew a head when he saw one.  He turned towards James, strapped into the machine that had broken the soldier's mind.

"Perhaps we will see how much she enjoys your chair, soldier.  You always seem to like it so much."

The Winter Soldier yanked against the restraints with a scream of pain.  The man snapped his fingers and several soldiers left the room.  James fought hard against his iron chair, snarling against his straps.

Several yards down the hall, Pyotr (now Peter) smoothed his hands over his blankets, looking up at his mother as she finished a story.  She looked so beautiful, ethereal even, simply leaning against his headboard with _The Turtle and the Hare_ in her hands.  Beverly closed the hard-back, fingers slipping against its worn spine, and glanced down at Peter's pout.

"Other, momma.  Other." Peter whined, pleading up at the Widow with big eyes.  Beverly chuckled and stood, shaking her head in amusement, but she could not deny him.

"Alright, little one.  One more." She promised.  His mother crouched in front of the bookcase, looking through the books as a Hydra grunt stepped inside.  This was not unusual and Peter waved at the soldier in mistaken friendliness.  Beverly startled when the sounds of her husband fighting his way through the base reached her ears.  Before she could stand or even contemplate assisting him, Peter was left to gasp as the man slipped a needle into the back of Beverly's neck.

The soldier caught her as those blue eyes immediately fell shut and her body relaxed in a way the child had never seen before.  He laid her out, gently, on the floor so that her hair was spread out around her like some picturesque portrait.  This would be his last memory of her - of her white hair, of the red scar burned into her skin, of the gentle touch of her hands, of the blue her eyes turned when she smiled.

Then, he turned towards Peter.  Other soldiers entered, assisting in grabbing the little boy from his bed.  Peter screamed, horrified and confused, as they restrained his flailing arms.  A crash came from a room a few doors down, a struggle being carried out.

"Stop!  You can't - you can't take him!" A familiar voice snarled, echoing down the hall.

Peter hiccuped, blindly reaching out in the direction of his father as the bloodied Winter Soldier appeared around the corner with shining eyes and gleaming arm.  Rage and fear outlined his movements as he fought his way past the guards pouring into the hall.

"Peter, sweetheart," the Winter Soldier shouted, so soft as he addressed his only child yet fiercely fighting the hands attempting to hold him back, "I'll find you.  This is all my fault, okay?  You are such a good boy.  I'll find you.  I'll find you."

The cold metal tips of his fingers graced his son's cheek before the Winter Soldier was slammed back into the wall.  Peter tried to cling to that hand, but it slipped from his hand as it had Steve Rogers (Someday he would learn that not even Captain America had been able to hold on).

......

Light spilled in through the window as the door creaked open, rousing the unconscious woman on the floor.  In the corner of her eye, Beverly could see the pile of books through blurry vision - the books Peter and she had read that very afternoon - were knocked over and spilling across the floor.

Startled, the Black Widow rushed to sit up.  Her head spun with the movement, but the mother cared not for herself.  Her hope was still high, at that moment, as she rushed to gather her bearings.  Beverly took a step forward despite the silent protest of her husband's saddened stare.  She knew that faint whirring as well as she knew her own heartbeat, and normally, it brought her relief.  Today, as the Winter Soldier stood in the doorway, the dark bruises on his forehead brought great distress and anxiety.

No noise escaped as Beverly found an empty bed: neither child or knitted blankets.  She slid to the floor, her fingers wrapping around the wood frame as her legs weakened in disbelief.  James' silence gave away his own grief, for he was a quiet man.  Beverly, however, felt all things deeply.  This heartbreak was no different.

Within her a fire grew, bubbling out of slender fingers - from her skin, as the woman's anger raged a war.  Beverly screamed, felt the wood snap underneath her fingers, as grief consumed her.  It was at that moment that the Black Widow was truly born.

James knew he had no choice, not when they had threatened her.  The Russians had taken his son and he did not know how much he would tolerate before he separated Beverly and the Winter Soldier.  Their handlers would wipe her completely after this - after she had burned down the entire base and scorched fields that were miles away, and dried up an entire village's water source in her blind rage.  It was too much attention, the kind that Hydra could not tolerate or handle.

James would not fail again.


	22. A Change in Authority

The Black Widow pinned the target by the ankle, laughing at his desperate attempts to get away.  Her hair whipped about her face as she tipped her head back.  The Winter Soldier stood at the edge of the water.  A smile curled across her lover's mouth, satisfied and relieved.  He did not enjoy watching her torture, knew it was wrong because this was not her.  But the way she laughed, the brilliance of her smile, the Soldier could not deny the warmth that seeped into his bones at the sight.  The Winter Soldier did not know how brief the reprieve from their guilt would last before Hydra once again had them in their grasp, but his intentions were to make the best of their time together.

 

(1992)

The blue-eyed woman stood with her back straightened into a singular line, the very picture of perfect composure.  Her smile was thin, a deep red hue splashed onto the paleness of her expression - her skin smooth with calmness and her eyes unmoving as men fluttered about her.  The Winter Soldier was a stark contrast with his unkempt hair and raggedy clothes.  Blood had dried at the corner of his mouth, on his cheek, on his hands, and in-between his fingers.  He had fought his handlers, worried when they did not immediately retrieve the Widow from Cyro after informing him of the transition of power and the purchase of himself and his wife for nearly $20 million.

Alexander Pierce grinned, his hands leisurely tucked in his pockets, as he eyed the couple.  Their strength was apparent, even in their stillness.  It rippled in the very tremble of their skin, the slight tremor in their fingers, and the burning passions in their eyes.  Beverly and James Barnes were buried deep inside, allowing their inner beasts a chance to hunt.  The Russian, second in command along with some chain of the Soviets, hesitantly took a step in Pierce's direction.  He held out a thick stack of files.

"This is the normals schedule.  Black Widow prefers to have her itineraries planned out and dislikes sudden changes in the agenda." The Soviet bean, placing the files on the table.  He flipped one folder open, showcasing the Soldier and his Widow after a successful mission.  The Russian soldier continued, his voice expressing concern as Pierce remained fixated on the two assassins.

"We have their histories: kills, favorites, dislikes, health records, the time they've spent in and out of cryostasis.  This is the information that could ruin your agency if it was to get out."

The Hydra head watched, amused, as the Widow playfully bared her teeth at the Soldier.  In turn, he crossed his eyes.  Her inane laughter spilled around the room the way her curls bounced around her shoulders.

"Good.  I will make sure their schedules are not disturbed unless it is absolutely necessary."

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice, the Winter Soldier snapped his gaze towards the head of Hydra.  He squirmed in the most delicate of ways until his shoulder was close enough to bring his elbow bumping against the arm of the Widow.  The Soldier merely needed to ensure that she was still safe.  Alexander Pierce grinned in recognition of another man's weakness.

"So, what's with her name?  Black Widow?" Pierce asked, grinning at the Russian.  He looked hesitant, glancing at his silent superiors.  "Is it like she's married to a ghost?  Because that's funny." He chuckled.  Beverly met his eyes when he turned to look at her.  The laughter had disappeared from her face, replaced with an emptiness that struck fear in Pierce's unnaturally stoic heart.

 

(A Hospital in Missouri)

"Peter, baby," the woman whispered, reaching out with her hand towards the boy.  She had adopted him so many years ago and while she treated him like a son, Peter had never really warmed up to her.  Peter glanced uncertainly at her, at that hand, and shrunk back.  She was not his mother - she never would be.  He wanted his father's hands, even if one was cold and metal - it had always made him feel safe.

When he was pushed out of the room, Peter was relieved to be away from her.  Ya-Ya peeked out from his backpack as Peter raced down the corridor, bursting outside with tears streaking down his cheeks.  When the blue light encircled him, Peter thought it was maybe his dad - that he was keeping his promise like he always did.

It wasn't his dad.

The blue alien squatted, looking Peter in the eye.  The boy clung to Ya-Ya, the last piece of his previous life.  "A'ght, boy.  This crew ne'er had Terran meat before so watch yourself.  Gotta keep you safe for your ma and pa."

His name was Yandu and Peter soon realized he wasn't as tough as he tried to pretend to be.

 

(Three Months Later)

The Winter Soldier wiped the bloody rag over the burned skin of his lover's face, continued despite the Widow's wince and soft whine.  The soldier was determined to be tender, but the burn was blistered and aggravated.  It would heal, however, and that was the only reason James had allowed the Hydra grunt to live.  A soldier - unauthorized - had slapped Beverly with an electric stick.  The Widow's body had crumpled to the floor with one sharp smack that had been echoing inside James' head for hours after.

Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging in protest.

"I'm not done, doll.  I have to bandage it."

Beverly's touch quietly slid from James' wrist without protest.  The idiot had hit her when she had begun to remember blue eyes similar to her own, silky blonde hair, and a defiant pout.  " _Steve_ ," She had whispered, such pain in her voice, James' own skin had trembled with anger.

The strike had landed shortly after.

"Poor doll," The Winter Soldier whispered.  He did not know why these words slid from his mouth, but they made his lover relax so James would say them as often as possible.  He watched from beneath his lashes as the tension left Beverly's shoulders.  Her lithe fingers hooked into the band of his boxers, and the Winter Soldier let her wandering hands explore the ridges of his stomach without protest.  She was the only one he trusted to touch him so intimately, even if James could not remember why or how they came to be such close lovers.  He only knew they had been together for longer than they had been Hydra's pets - he knew it from the automatic way she made him feel.

From the window overlooking the training area, Alexander Pierce watched with a frown.

Weeks, maybe months, later the Winter Soldier had completed the previous mission without complications and as promised he was allowed to see the Black Widow after being alone for so long.  James had finished the mission that would be his last for several more weeks with a swiftness.  The soldier's blood was still thrumming in his veins from the adrenaline as he was escorted down the hallways.  It was always a heady rush, unsure whether James would be successful and be allowed the privilege of his lover's presence.

The Winter Soldier walked into the cryostasis room alone.  Scientists bustled around him as the WIndow's chamber was opened.  The sight of her skin covered in a thin layer of ice was always painful, made something deep inside James cry out and throb with the desire to keep her safe, to never let any harm come to this vision of a woman.

The Widow stumbled from the chamber as a scientist placed hands on her upper arms, helping her climb out.  Her eyes were a bright blue and fierce as they cut across the room to meet her soldier's own green eyes.  She always searched for him when she woke - it was an immediate reaction to waking with frost-covered lashes.  The Widow tossed her head in defiance when a scientist attempted to take her temperature.  The thermometer was crushed between her fingers.  Beverly was impatient and disoriented from her stay in the cryostasis chamber, and the Winter Soldier knew she did not care to wait for her health to be checked before they were reunited.

Blood dripped from James' hands, but neither the Widow or the soldier cared.  James gripped Beverly's face, smeared the blood over her cheeks with his thumbs, as their mouths met in a fierce kiss.  Their passion was savage, full of turmoil and desire that flickered in his chest like the beginning of a tsunami.  James growled low in his throat as a soft, heated purr spilled from Beverly like molten silk.  The two pulled apart to gasp in the needed oxygen, though, in doing so, pitiful regret shone in those eyes.

"You are my only, the only one for me," James whispered against her temple, his breath damp as he panted for air.  It was their form of hello, their way of saying " _I love you.  I missed you.  I cannot live without you._ "  It was how they held onto sanity.

The Black Widow lowered her lashes so they batted against her cheeks before those blue eyes stared up at James with the entire universe inside them.  Her gaze shifted at the soft croon of Alexander Pierce.

"Love is a beautiful thing, is it not?"

He did not miss the way slender fingers nervously twisted into the fabric of James' shirt.  He growled, this time in anger, as he gathered her naked body against his clothed one.

"Do not worry, Soldier.  We were merely making sure the Widow was aware of the shower waiting.  She must be frozen."  Pierce grinned placidly, but James saw the cruelty underneath.  He could also feel the small shivers trembling beneath his lover's skin.  James directed Beverly towards the showers.

The spray of the water was too warm, but all Beverly could think about was how her lover's hands soothed the burn.  His fingers gently gathered her hair when vomit rose in her throat.  It was common, after being put in Cyro too quickly with food still in their stomachs.  Beverly was sure the Heads got off on it, but it was not her place to accuse them.  No, the memory of stiff fingers on her skin still haunted Beverly.  It would haunt her until the day she died.

Her lover's arms were tight around her body when he noticed her eyes go hazy as she drifted down the whirlwind of memories.  When Beverly was sufficiently scrubbed down and her skin no longer purple, the Soldier lifted her up and carried Beverly to the bedroom they had been given.  The blankets were too soft, but she did not complain.  She couldn't not when the Soldier's arms were wrapped around her and his body pressed against the length of her own.

 

(In Space)

"Yandu, I drawled this for you." Peter grinned slapping down the symbol he remembered always came with a quiet lullaby.

"Wow," Yandu grinned, inspecting the artwork.  "This is very unique.  Good work kid."

Peter laughed and ran to tell Ya-Ya that Yandu liked it.  The alien put it with the others, such as the Lady with White Hair and the Man with the Metal Hand.  Some of them were extremely off, such as the yellow spongey square in pants but Yandu didn't mind indulging the kid's creativity.  And Peter was a creative kid.  He was always singing some Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral song that Yandu had never heard and dancing what Peter called the "disco."  The Scavenger assumed it was from the kid's time on Earth and he was secretly relieved Peter hadn't forgotten some of his human roots.

Of course, it was only twenty minutes later that Peter was scowling, sitting in the pilot's seat.

"Now, now." Someone cooed, worry causing their voice to pitch higher.  "We'll find Ya-Ya.  We'll find her real soon."

Yandu could only hope that promise wouldn't be broken.  The Human could throw a real bitch-fest and his pout was a legitimate killer.  He patted Peter's head in an attempt to comfort him.  The kid shot him a dirty look, but the pouting bottom lip ruined the effect.

 

(After a Mission)

The Winter Soldier, tired yet unwavering in determination, stumbled but refused to let out any sound of pain.  Tears were slipping from the Widow's eyes and James squeezed his own tightly shut when a sob grated against his every instinct to comfort her.  James ached to pull her close, hold her so that she could hear his heart beating.  James ached to let her know that everything was alright, that he could never love her any less for what Hydra made her do.  It was the same promise, same reassurance, she had given him when their Peter was taken.

The Winter Soldier stood still.

"Again." Pierce's voice was sharp and unforgiving.  Her delicate hand smashed against her lover's cheekbone, knuckles bruised from constant contact.  She was being punished and James had no choice but to participate willingly least Pierce decide to further the severity of her punishment.  He stumbled again, fought his own will, and stood still.

 

(On Planet Candaxar)

Yandu hauled the kid like a sack of fragile potatoes: trying to make sure the heavy load didn't get bruised but failing miserably.  Peter mumbled, half-asleep, and just shifted to another position when his head or elbow or foot banged into a doorway.  A hooker's den wasn't the best place to lay a kid down for bed but Yandu was gonna make do with what was available.  His loyal crew members would make sure nothing too dicey or spicey came around to the room they'd managed to get.

Once in the room, Yandu tucked Peter in, who was beginning to sniffle.  Yandu propped Ya-Ya by the kid's shoulder, but not even the presence of his favorite toy offered much cheer.  Instantly, Yandu felt worried draw a line up his spine and he pressed a cautious hand to the kid's forehead.  Peter pushed it away, grumpy and spilling tears.

"I want my momma." He whispered, burying his face in Ya-Ya's plushy fur.

Yandu swallowed, bit his cheek and smiled softly.  "I'm sorry, buckaroo.  Your momma ain't here and she ain't ever gonna be."

Yandu hated to be so frank with someone so young, but he didn't want Peter to be disillusioned.  Real tears - sobs, really - welled up in Peter's eyes, in his lungs, but Yandu quickly took things in hand.

"Hey, now.  I'm sure she misses you very much.  But you've gotta stay strong." He cast a glance at the llama toy.  "For Ya-Ya.  I think she gets scared sometimes."

Peter gasped, hauling Ya-Ya further against his chest with horror.  It was simple, Yandu thought, for Peter to be brave for Ya-Ya.  Things, the man knew, would not be so easy once the truth came to light but that was a battle for another day.  Right now he'd be good if the kid would learn not to be afraid of the dark.

 

1997

Beverly gasped as she forced her eyes open.  Fingers were curled around her wrists, pulling her forward and out of the chamber.  She stumbled as another pair of hands gripped her upper arms, holding the woman upright as the chill of the cryo chamber left a frost on her skin.  It burned the way it always did as she swallowed air in shocked pants.  Towels rubbed harshly against her sensitive skin.

"My dear, the Winter Soldier needs the comfort of your voice.  He has had a rather... difficult mission." Alexander Pierce crooned, standing in the shadows of his office after she had been warmed and dressed.

Her lover had slipped on the rocks and slid down the gravelly hill to the edge of the mountainside.  Where Beverly did not know.  She only knew death had come from his mission as fortunately, his target had not managed to escape.  Yet, from what she understood, the resulting death was his regret.

James tensed when she touched the cuts along his back.  There were so many.

"I'm sorry.  I know it is painful." Beverly whispered as she brought the warm, wet cloth to his skin to wipe away the drying blood and grime.

From several feet away, Alexander's voice could be heard coming down the hall.  His voice was harsh and Beverly fought her snapping words.  Instead, she focused on cleaning the wounds of her lover.  "Get anesthetics.  It will not do for the soldier to get an infection."

James was silent.  His eyes were far away in another time, in another life.  Beverly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, hoping to reach him wherever he had drifted off to.  Humming an old Russian lullaby, Beverly was surprised when the rough croak of his voice rung against the walls.

"I saw Natalia," James whispered.

His voice was so full of self-hatred that at first Beverly felt inclined to cry rather than to soothe.  It was strange to feel, after suppressing her own emotions for so long.  It took a while for her to regain her voice.

"What, my love?  We saw her be taken by the Soviets.  Natalia is gone." Beverly asked in her confusion.

James looked at her from over his shoulder.   For the first time in years, there were tears in his eyes.

"She is now."

The sob locked itself in the Black Widow's throat.  Those green eyes were wild as James continued.  His entire body shook with the magnitude of what he'd done.

"I had to, Beverly.  I had to.  She stood right in front of the target.  And I had to kill him." James tried to explain, his voice rough and angry.  It rang out harshly through the room.  It was a reminder of the threats Hydra had issued once if he ever failed a mission again.  He would not make that same mistake (not even with their second child, for he knew that his widow would not survive that grief).

"Why didn't she move, Beverly?  What did she protect the target?  Didn't she know that I would have to shoot her too?"

James broke and brought his hands to cover his face.  Beverly rounded to his front, abandoning his physical injuries to tend to his emotional wounds.  She softly pried his hands from his face, failing to curl their fingers together as James began to work himself into such a state of anger.

"Hush, my love.  She had her own mission.  We raised her to never allow failure.  It wasn't your fault.  it is never your fault -"

James gripped Beverly's shoulders tightly, suddenly.  His hold was strong and Beverly heard several doors fling open in alarm at the hostile move.  In her peripheral vision, Beverly could see one Hydra soldier raising a gun.  Instantly rage poured into her veins but she swallowed it down.  She fought the shaking of her knees as they threatened to collapse.  Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared up into his bloodshot eyes in shock at James' actions.

"It's not fair, Beverly.  She was beautiful and young and innocent to the monster I've become.  I wanted her to stay that way.  Just one life - just one life I didn't ruin."

Beverly hardly knew how to react as James broke into a sob.  She hurriedly wiped the tears from his face, whispering reassurances and things she wasn't quite sure made sense.  She was surprised when he pulled away as if retreating from her.  The distance made her cold, burning in the ice, and she tried to school her expression.  She failed if his expression of grief was any indication.

"You should fear me, Beverly.  I am dangerous."

The Black Widow swallowed in a dry mouth, blinking back tears at her lover's words.  Green eyes stared with desolation at the floor, unable to even look at his doll - at what he had done to her.  He believed what he had said and that was what broke her heart.

"Never." She whispered as she gently brushed the back of her shaking hand along his wet cheek.  "Let them fear you, for I know I am safe when you hold me.  It is the only time I do not feel fear."

 

(6 Months Later)

Beverly sat as stoic as ever in Pierce's dining room.  The Winter Soldier was ushered to the other end of the morning breakfast table, seated for four.  Only one remained empty now, as Pierce occupied the third himself.  He was beaming, giddily piling eggs onto a plate that the Winter Soldier wouldn't eat.  He was watching his wife, who wore a thin sheen of makeup to hide the red puffiness under her eyes.  She refused to meet his gaze, holding a fork in her hand and pushing the food around on her plate.  Everything about her was soft - except for those eyes.  They were cold and hard and everything about them felt wrong.

James would look back later on and realize that he had known the moment he'd seen that look in her eyes.  At the moment, he only looked up in surprise when Pierce spoke.

"Beverly has a very important announcement to make, soldier." He chewed noisily.

James looked back at her.  Beverly tilted her face away, her fingers stilling.  Pierce's eyes flashed, only for a moment, but enough to reveal the beast underneath his calm and cheerful persona.  He sighed, faking irritation for he was far too amused about the situation.

"I suppose she's just in such a good shock I better give the news: you're going to be a father."

The Winter Soldier's heart felt like it had crashed through his lungs.  And he knew - he knew why her eyes had become so cold.

Only months after losing their first daughter, still broken-hearted over their second son, they were going to have their third child - but Hydra was not going to have the chance to destroy her future.  The WInter Soldier knew the Black Widow was willing to do anything she must to protect the only innocent thing they had left.

Now, all there was left to do was to wait for the perfect opportunity.


	23. Designing the Web (Baby Spider Eggs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So their daughter, Winifred, is really gonna help tie in a lot of the later elements and superheroes.

1999 (Private Cabin in the Mountains)

Beverly laid in the silk sheets, her face half-mashed in the pillow, as she turned to watch her husband.  He was in the rocking chair, slowly gliding back and forth.  In his arms, the tiny infant slept.  It was the most peaceful that Beverly had felt in ages, watching the two of them.  Her memories had returned in pieces, too, but what she remembered was wonderful.  Their past was peppered with tragedy, of course, but there were moments - moments so sweet, they made her tongue curl.  Staring at her lover and their baby girl, she knew that there would be more of those sickeningly sweet moments.  She would treasure them, just as she treasured her daughter.  The tiny wisps of hair were jet black and she knew it would come in thick waves of silky hair, just like her husband's mother.

"James," She whispered (still too afraid to call him the favored nickname), "let's name her Winifred."

The Winter Soldier wasn't sure why his chest got so tight hearing that name, but he loved it.  Loved the way it came out of his wife's mouth, loved the sound of it on her tongue, loved her so much he thought that maybe the world was really just ending and this was his brain's way of understanding it.  Everything was too quiet here, but he was learning to enjoy it.  He had stopped reflexively grabbing the gun beneath his pillow when their daughter woke them with her cries, though his heart still pounded in his chest with a fear he knew he had felt before.  James wasn't sure he wanted to remember why, though he could recollect laughter and tiny hands tugging at his.

It was peaceful.

Their peace and memories did not last.  The ice returned, but this time so did the warmth.  Winifred was always a constant between missions as she grew until finally the girl was three and blossoming.  James was proud to find she was just like her mother: mischevious.  She ruled her domain in Hydra's facility with a chubby fist and striking eyes that knew how to make any guard stand stock-still with fear (or maybe it was her mother's eyes, standing behind the little girl, with a smile that demanded they behave).  Winifred loved to run down the halls, making heavily-armed men clumsily chase after her.  She loved running into her mother's arms the most, especially after Beverly was away (stuck in time's icy grip or stopping the watch of another's life).  Some nights, her father would read to her.  They would lay in her canopy bed, his big frame curled in the tiny sheets with her falling asleep in his lap.  For Winifred, at three, life was perfect.

It was 2002 the first time Winifred saw that her world _wasn't_ perfect.

"Winifred?" Beverly's heels clicked down the hall as she searched for the evasive toddler.

Unknown to her mother, Winifred had snuck into the laboratory and hid behind one of the machines.  Pressing a hand to smother her giggles, Winifred successfully evaded guards roaming about in search of her.  Bright green eyes lit up impossibly brighter as she recognized the heavy clunk of her father's relaxed footsteps.  Standing, mouth open to shout out a greeting, the light died off in her eyes as a fist crunched hard against her father's skull.  He stumbled, a low and stilted groan falling out of his mouth, but clenched his eyes shut instead of rearing back.  The Winter Soldier breathed out heavy.  His eyes were dark as he glared and yet he did not fight back.  Winifred watched with horrified, confused eyes as the Hydra soldiers forced her father into the cryo tank.

"Winnie!" Her mother's soft hands did nothing to soothe the fear the daughter felt invading her every glance at the soldier's surrounding them.  It was then that the toddler grew distrustful, understanding that the only honest arms were her parents.

A worry-pinched mouth pressed a kiss to Winifred's cheek, lifting her up against her mother's chest.  Winifred could see her father's sorrowful eyes, open against the chill, as the ice grew - covering the familiar green with frost.  She would never forget that look - James Buchanan Barnes had never felt so ashamed then the night he saw that horror in her eyes.

Late that night, Winifred stood at the side of the bed that her father usually occupied.  Her mother sat up, drowsy as if she was used to sleeping alone.  Beverly blinked, glancing down at where the comforter was sliding off.  Tiny hands landed on the side of the mattress and Beverly was shocked at the sob that welled in her chest.  The tears were quick to fall, but she hid them in the darkness as Winifred clambered up.  Her daughter dropped heavily onto the sheets, tired and afraid.  She stuck her face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of her father and letting out a quiet whimper.  Beverly ran gentle shaking hands over Winifred's back.  She had to close her eyes to keep the sound of her own cries locked inside her throat.

"It's alright, baby.  He'll come back soon."

(IN THE MORNING)

"You wanted to see me, Pierce?"

Beverly entered the head of Hydra's office with ease.  He turned to her for advice, for after all as Zola had ordained, she was the key to Hydra's success.  Pierce desired that success so much he had become oblivious to any other route.  The heavy iron doors of his office fell shut behind her as she entered.  Pierce did not turn immediately, taking a long glance out the window before he shifted.  The head of Hydra looked over at the woman, smiling as if he had figured out all the problems in the world.

"My dear," Pierce crooned.  His voice made her anxious, for he sounded overly gleeful.  It reminded Beverly of a toddler that was soon to get their way.  She could already feel a pit of unease beginning to grow in her stomach and she knew it would not take long before the reason for her premeditated worry would reveal itself.

"I have so many plans that I have been waiting to share with you.  Come now." The head of Hydra gave a wicked grin that curled over his teeth in a way that would make Daniel Reinhardt - now christened as Daniel Whitehall - jealous.  Worry twisted at Beverly's stomach, and she tried to swallow the fear but that smile was terrifying.

She tentatively made her way to Pierce's desk.  Beverly's footsteps were obscenely loud as her heels clipped against the tiles.  Pierce pulled out his desk chair - one with wheels for some things never change - and gestured she sit.  While Beverly adored such a chair, she also knew that Pierce disliked her to sit at his desk, which meant he was hoping to butter her up for something he knew the Black Widow would not approve.  Pierce patted her shoulder, rounding the woman's side and retreating to stand at the window.  His contented expression concerned Beverly and she settled, hoping that she would have the ability to deter whatever designs he had for the twenty-first century.

Peering at the files he had scattered about his desk, Beverly felt her stomach crash into her ribs at the dreaded equation Zola had created years ago: the designs for the hellicarriers she had sketched out recently were placed alongside it.  Pierce's hand landed on her shoulder as she slowly shifted through the papers.  Her hands shook.

"Hydra shall rise from the ashes, my dear.  We will come crawling out from the shadows and into the light."

And that was the day Beverly Lois Rogers-Barnes made a deal with the devil.

 

The Winter Soldier - unexpectedly taken from cryo so soon after Beverly and Pierce's little talk - looked up as his wife entered the playroom.  Winifred gasped delightedly at having both mother and father beside her again, though she was reluctant to leave James' arms to greet her mother.  She had been terrified to watch him as she had yesterday evening.

James could see the straight lines of Beverly's face, the way fear had tugged that mouth into a fine linear shape.  It was only when Winifred was asleep on the floor, bundled by her favorite toys, that he learned the cause for that fear.

"Hydra wishes to come from the shadows.  This is our only chance.  We will take Winifred out of here and then we return.  And we _ruin_ Hydra." Beverly's hands were soft on his face, but her words felt as harsh as the ice.  He closed his eyes, shaking his head.  James understood, of course, but his entire body ached at the thought of letting their daughter go.

"This world was not meant for her, James.  She belongs out there - with real people.  People who can teach her to dance and to make lemonade.  We can't..." Beverly's voice cracked.  She dropped her forehead against his, and James welcomed the touch.  He ran his hands along her back, soothed the tremble from her spine, and wished he could make it okay again.  He wanted that cabin in the mountains, the simplicity, the perfection - even if it had been a facade in the end.

"We can't be that for her." He agreed.

 

Beverly's first token to the path of an opportunity presented itself in the form of a troubled young man who John Garrett had decided to take under his wing and manipulate.

Buddy, the black labrador John Garrett had dropped off with Grant Ward, wagged his tail as the two walked back to the half-built cabin.  Grant laughed as he pounced on a mound of grass, but his ears soon caught on the sound of an engine roaring in the distance.  Curious, he turned in the direction of the dirt road.  Buddy barked at the pick-up truck as it came rumbling up to the half-built cabin.  He circled around the vehicle with his tail in full wag.  Grant wiped the sweat off his brow and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to try and see past the tinted windshield.  The Labrador never barked at Garrett's truck.  The realization brought goosebumps.

Garrett swung open his door with a " _git, bud._ "  His foot swung at the friendly dog when Buddy got too close.  When the Hydra agent exited, the passenger door opened as well.  A female, with all the appearance of a goddess, gracefully climbed from the vehicle.  She was beautiful and rather elegantly dressed for a day out in a dusty field.  Bright blue eyes found Grant instantly within the clearing.  The moment those crystal blue eyes landed on his frame, they were analyzing, calculating him down to the bits and pieces of his components parts.  It felt like, to Grant, that he was being torn apart by her unwavering gaze.

Buddy wagged his tail as he approached the visitor, whose small curl of her mouth was the only given indication that she had noticed him.  The dog bumped his head against her thigh in demand to be petted.  The woman leaned down - her eyes never leaving his frame - to scratch leisurely at his scalp.  Garrett was grinning as if this new development was great.  When the woman stood back up, a smile pulled at her mouth.

Garrett motioned for Grant to approach.  His hand landed on his shoulder when the kid was close enough and he nearly dragged Grant to his side.

"What'd I tell you?  He's a masterpiece." Garrett boomed.  His grip was a little tight on Grant's collarbone.  The woman gave a light, little smile that thinned her lips in a way that Grant wasn't sure was a smile at all.

"You were right, Garrett.  For once." Her voice was a teasing, melodic harmony.  "He is quite primed for Hydra's search.  Your training has been beneficial to his superiority.  Perhaps he will be fit for a spot on the regiment with Pierce."

Garrett raised a brow.

"Ward is a perfect candidate for the program." He protested.

The woman's smile grew sharp.  It was dangerous but as her eyes flickered to Grant, it felt warm.  "Yes, but so is Brock Rumlow and he has already infiltrated SHIELD.  For him to work up to the elite ranks of whomever Hydra is trying to take out now will be much easier than for a novice agent."

Garrett scoffed and spat with an eye-roll of disgust.  "Try him out yourself.  Grant, take a position.  You're gonna show the Black Widow here your worth." He ordered.

The woman sighed.  "Are you sure that is a good idea, Garrett?  I would hate to hurt his spirits."

Garrett, of course, didn't listen and Grant found himself sprawled on the ground.

"My name is Beverly." She told him as she gently stitched the cut Grant had received from his scramble with a rock.  "I have worked for Hydra for many years."

Grant stared in awe as she continued.  A smile grew across her mouth.  "I do hope that I have not made you mute.  Not that Garrett would mind, but I assume you will need a voice for the line of work you wish to pursue."

Grant narrowed his eyes at her.  Her eyes had merely grown brighter.

 

(Two years later)

Winifred had never felt so lost in her entire life.  The nuns were great, as was Father Fredrick, but she missed her parents.  After an exciting plane ride, her mother dropped a kiss to her forehead and her father a promise against her ear and they had left - leaving their babydoll in Queens, New York.  At six years old, she had understood James' words when he hugged her tight as if it was the last time he would ever see her again.  When her mother had echoed the sentiment, Winifred knew that it wasn't going to be.

Unfortunately, before they returned to her, she was stuck in the park.  The sisters had left her to her own devices, in an effort to encourage her to make friends, and they sat chatting on a park bench.  A young boy from Winifred's pre-school had approached her and she wasn't too sure about him.  She wasn't too sure of anyone these days.

"My parents died in a car crash." Peter Parker blurted, looking over at Winifred expectedly.  The little girl cast an unsure glance at Sister Annie but she was preoccupied with Sister Tracy so Winifred was left on her own.  Aunt May was watching with some of the parents, supervising the children running around the playground, and she bit back a laugh at Winifred's grimace before the girl's face smoothed out.

"I don't know where my parents are.  Father Fredrick says its better that way." Winifred shrugged her shoulders.  She didn't say that she missed them or that she thought, sometimes, she glimpsed her father's head in the crowded halls of Sunday mass.  Father Fredrick had said that wasn't good conversation either.

Peter offed a sympathetic smile, hand patting her shoulder.  Then, his eyes lit up.

"We can go look for them.  It'll be an adventure." He suggested.

Winifred looked up at him, actually turning her attention to the other for the first time, to fix Peter Parker with surreal green eyes that reminded him of the planets he could see with his telescope.

"I like adventures."

Peter smiled and fixed her hairpin with sure fingers.  "We'll gotta be best friends then.  My name's Peter."

For the first time since she'd been sent to live with Father Fredrick, a bloom of warmth spread through the little girl's chest.  She felt safe next to this little boy who grinned at her stupidly.

"Okay, Peter.  I'm Winifred.  We can be best friends.  Forever." Winifred nodded her head in a final proclamation.

Through a camera mounted to one of the light poles, Beverly closed her eyes and thanked whatever God was out there for that little boy.


	24. Out of Time (Left Behind)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE STEVIE WENT INTO THE ICE: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU THE AVENGERS.
> 
> But first, a quick idea of where Beverly and Bucky are.

2003

"She's a beauty."

Tal Monroe, Pierce's contact in Africa, nodded towards the long-legged brunette taunting a practically panting politician.  Pierce drunkenly laughed before waving idly at the Winter Soldier.  James stood like a statue beside them, alert and unblinking, even at his boss' slurred speech.

"Got them together.  Gift from the Russians."

Tal raised a brow.  His gaze darted back to the woman.  She was elegant and deadly, beautiful in the most ethereal way.  Any man could have looked upon her at that moment and believed they were seeing a goddess.

"Winter Soldier." He nodded at James before tipping his head towards the woman.  "Black Widow."

The other man's throat went dry at Pierce's confession.  Tal had heard rumors about the Black Widow, her prowess, and intelligence, which made her all that more valuable.  She had brought down dynasties, powerful politicians, presidents.  And her hold over the ghost assassin was not anything to forget.  The older of the two sleezebags smirked, no doubt reading Tal's expression and inclined his head to the unmoving stone of a man lurking nearby.

"Soldier," Pierce demanded, "report on the Widow."

Tal had noticed earlier the way the Winter Soldier watched her.  The soldier's eyes tracked her every movement, followed every line of her body as she seemed to float across the floor.  The predatory flicker of his eyes made uneasiness rise in Tal, but he ignored it.  Pierce knew his assassins well, and Tal thought that surely he would not allow anything to occur that would damage the relations before himself and Tal.

"She is close to completing her mission, sir.  Madame B has secured the senator's trust and his loyalty for Hydra."  The Winter Soldier sounded bored, dull even, but the raging fire in his eyes was anything but.

"Good.  Maxwell, retrieve her.  Take Davenport out back.  He's worthless to Hydra if all it takes is a pretty woman to change his allegiances, no matter how well-spoken she is." Pierce lazily waved his hand.  Tension left the Winter Soldier's shoulders and his body appeared to relax.  The Soldier's sharp, green eyes followed her figure as she approached.

Tal fought to swallow at the bubbly giggle that was suddenly pressed against his ear.  Soft, small hands landed on his shoulders and ran down his chest.  Pierce chuckled, offered a hand in the direction of the woman behind Tal.  The Widow climbed over the couch, flashing the black lingerie she wore underneath the thick fur coat she had on.  She tumbled a little but several men were quickly offering her a hand for balance.  The Black Widow flung one of those delicate hands in the Winter Soldier's direction.  He willingly obeyed her unspoken demand and swept the Black Widow off her feet - his hands on her waist - before he placed her back on the ground.  The blue of her eyes was equally surreal as the devious smirk that crawled across her blood-red mouth when the woman turned, giving her attention back to Tal.  One of her fingers hooked into the Winter Soldier's shirt collar and tugged, but only for a moment before she released him.  The Winter Soldier looked content to fall into her touch but he straightened.

"Come here, dear. Tell me how good of a time you're having." Pierce patted his lap enticingly.  His smile reminded Tal of the cobra's eyes before it strikes, all-knowing and explicitly cruel.

"Just the best, but you knew that." The Black Widow purred as she slid into Pierce's arms with the grace of a cat.  She even arched her back when he placed his hand there to steady her.  Tal gave a low whistle, appreciative of the gorgeous display.

"She really is a thing of beauty, Pierce."

The Black Widow tossed her head back and laughed.  Her curls brushed the Winter Soldier's hand, but he did not retreat from it.  Instead, he caught the back of her neck when she tilted too far back.

"She's crazy." Pierce chuckled as he pulled her back into a sitting position.  She playfully nipped at the air in front of his nose.

"You willing to give her up?  She seems attached." Tal's voice grew worried as a glint of diamond shone on the Widow's left hand.  Both the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier, however, turned to look at him when he spoke.  Tal was suddenly under the impression that he had pissed off both assassins.  Pierce raised one hand, bringing it through the Widow's hair.  She flinched from the touch, whirling to snap at his fingers.  He pulled them away with a smirk.

"She's all yours, my friend.  Dear, go play with your new toy."

The Widow's smile was all teeth.  Tal never even saw the blade in her hands.

 

( **2004** )

"Bzzzz- zzzz - _click._ "

Steve could hear the noise of a baseball game and static.  The game was playing on a radio not too far away.  It was out of the ordinary to hear the announcer yelling scores and retelling the plays because Bucky hated listening to the game.  He preferred the music of the classical tongue - the lilting decrescendos and dramatic crescendos.  Barnes had loved the sound of it, especially the voices from opera.  Bucky'd promised to take Beverly to a show, once the war was over.  Bucky'd promised a lot of things that ended up with a dusty white dress and a lonely wedding ring.  Things had tumbled after his fall until it came to the whirring of a place and the cold that Steve could still feel crawling over his skin -

It all came over him at once as Steve realized that he hadn't died putting the plane in the ice.  He was alive.  His sister was alive and safe and the urge to dance had never felt so right in his chest.  Beverly would look so beautiful, fretting in some uncomfortable hospital chair.  Peggy and Howard would be as graceful as ever: two people Steve was sure he owed his life too.  Pushing his eyes open, the soldier expected to see Beverly or Peggy or Howard or all three with big grins and teary eyes.

No one was there.

Steve's heart felt like it had dropped in the middle of his chest.  It was an entirely foreign feeling, the loneliness that came rushing over his skin with goosebumps.  Somehow he knew - the world was a little bit emptier now.

His eyes flickered to the door with a hope that immediately died as the door opened to reveal some woman who was not his sister.  Everything about the stranger was wrong.  Her hair was let loose, which was something completely unlike the normal regulations.  Steve knew - from his own mother and all his days in the hospitals - that a nurse would never wear it down.  Not while she was working a shift.  Even her breasts were off because she definitely wasn't wearing any type of bra that Steve had ever seen - and he'd seen a lot since working the tour circuit and Beverly's infatuation with tossing them in his face whenever she had the chance.

"Good morning, Captain Rogers.  We're glad you're making a quick recovery.  Do you remember anything?" She asked.  Her voice was gentle, soft in its assurance, but Steve felt little comfort at that tone.  He wanted bombs, shaking explosions, aggression - anything to explain why his sister hadn't been at his bedside when he woke.  He swallowed down the suspicious look that threatened to break over his face and plastered on that fake wounded look Beverly had him perfect.  He would play along until it seemed clear that Beverly was not going to arrive or this woman's true identity revealed he had been captured by Hydra forces or something equally absurd.

It had to be the only reason Beverly wasn't here.

"I remember the plane - going into the ice.  How... How long have I been out?" He asked.  He kept enough curiosity in his voice but stilled the fear and rage.  The nurse smiled placatingly and Steve realized then that something was very wrong.  No Hydra agent would have that kind of remorse and sympathy in their eyes.

"Only a few weeks."

Steve stepped out of bed, refusing to let himself stumble.  His shoulders grew tight together because he knew a lie when he heard one.  Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch, meaning she was not a nurse because he'd never met one who had ever been intimidated by even elephants.

"Where am I?"

Steve watched her begin to reach for something but he didn't give himself the change to see what and slammed open the door.  He was just as surprised as the well-dressed people he bared into in the hall.  He was shocked, startled by the bustling crowds around him, but continued to run.  The world seemed to give out in front of him when he stepped outside, into a world of bright flashing lights and strange cars and overwhelming people.  Black cars surrounded him, then, but Steve could've cared less.

A man in a black trenchcoat and an eyepatch approached.  Steve glanced at him, then at the foreign world around him.  His throat felt raw with cries that he hadn't even let out yet.  It all seemed to spin around him, wild and strange and good fucking Christ, things were never going to be the same.

"What year is it?" He asked, finally looking at the man.  He offered a pathway to one of the black cars, flashing the Howling Commandos insignia that Steve recognized without a beat.  He followed solemnly, awaiting his answer.

The man sighed.  "2004."

Grief swallowed Steve whole, taking away his breath and choking his lungs.  Beverly had been alone for seventy years.

 

Beverly was in the middle of throwing a punch in Edgar Montel's direction when a wave of dizziness washed over her from head to toe.  Beverly's punch swiped through the air and left a look of shock on the soldier's face.  Shortly, Beverly lost any sense of balance and her knees were having an unplanned meeting with the floor.  A pair of hands touched her skin and she was thankful that one of them was made of cool metal.

"Doll, what's wrong?" James' voice was soft and full of unspoken panic.

"Got too hot, I guess." Beverly breathed out, pushing her forehead into the crook of his shoulder.

"Get her some water.  And a wet cloth.  Now." Beverly heard Brock Rumlow snap at Montel.  A gentle hand roamed across the bare skin of her back before she found herself in James' arms.  Beverly wasn't aware that her legs had stopped holding her up.  It felt like the world had stopped turning as if bright lights were branding her eyes and she couldn't see past the panic overwhelming her body.

The most frightening part was Beverly knew: It was not her own panic.

 

The apartment SHIELD had given Steve was nice.  It wasn't like what he'd had with Beverly and Bucky in the 1940's but he hadn't expected that.  Steve was happy it was in Brooklyn.  One of his neighbors - Sharon Carter - he knew was an agent but he pretended that he thought she was a nurse in parallel with her cover.  As far as the stupidity act went no one seemed to suspect that he wasn't actually an idiot and that nothing got past him if he didn't want it to.

Standing in an old gym in Hell's Kitchen, Steve could almost feel her as if she was sitting on one of the benches behind him.  If he would only turn around, he would find Beverly sitting there with that godawful smile and warm eyes.  Steve cast a glance over his shoulder and found nothing.  He felt foolish, but his stomach plummeted anyway despite having known she wouldn't be there.

Steve sent a punch strong enough to split the bag open.

"You know, you're not as ignorant as you seem." Nick Fury's voice held a bit of a smile to it as he watched Steve drag the punching bag to the others.  Steve couldn't help but laugh.  It sounded like something Beverly would say.

"Yeah?  Well, then, let's cut to the chase.  Why'd you drag yourself out here?"

Fury was silent for a moment and Steve took that as less than stellar news.  He understood the man' better than he thought he would after that first meeting and first confusion.  Steve hadn't had time to look into everyone just yet - the people of his past life - and he hadn't really gotten the strength for it either.  It had been seventy years.

"It's a team called the Avengers."

Steve raised a brow with a sigh.  Fury held out a stack of files, which Steve reluctantly took.  "And what are they supposed to be?  A group of superheroes?"

Steve expected the slight surprise on Fury's face at the bitterness in his voice, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.  He may have been in the ice for seventy years but his personality hadn't lost an inch of its character.

"They don't need to be superheroes.  We just need them to save the world and you to lead them, Captain." Fury explained as Steve flicked through the files.  His eyes caught on the picture of a redheaded female: Agent Natasha Romanoff.  The way her eyes glittered was unnervingly familiar, but he couldn't quite place that shimmer of green.  Steve wanted to reject it, say he was done with the superhero mantle.  He just wanted to be Steve again.  But then, Fury admitted that they'd brought the Tesseract from the ocean too.  After seeing what it had done to Beverly, and hearing it was now in the hands of some villain named Loki, Steve knew he couldn't let it happen again.  One Red Skull was enough.

 

The bus was practically empty at this time of the night.  The Winter Soldier tapped his fingers against the Black Widow's knee, oddly nervous after such a successful mission.  Something pounded inside his head, a mantra of suspicion that was taking hold of his thoughts.  Her breath came out shaken as adrenaline flowed through her veins, her pulse finally beginning to slow down.  A car backfired and the Winter Soldier flew from his seat, shoving the woman back into the leather and caging her with his body.

Civilians shot them odd looks, but the Black Widow gently laughed - as if the two had been having a game of romance - and cupped his face with pale hands.  Her touch was the only thing that could calm his startled breath.

"It's alright." She whispered before pressing a swift kiss to his lips.  The Winter Soldier nodded, but his heart still felt as if it might pound out of his chest.  Slowly, he retreated back to his own seat.  Her legs pushed in-between his thighs, settling there like a warm weight that dragged her lover back to reality.  His mind occasionally got the best of him, especially when the couple worked together.  The Winter Soldier found it hard to separate himself from the mission, focused on the safety of his partner more than the efficiency of the job.

Sirens blinked behind the bus, and a voice echoed through the speakers asking the driver to pull over.  From her waist, the Black Widow withdrew her revolver.  It glistened in the moonlight as she passed it to the Winter Soldier.  Sparks cascaded from her fingers as officers approached the bus.  People were growing restless, curious and fearful as the officers boarded the bus.

"Hello, everyone.  If you would please begin making your way off the bus, it would be much appreciated."

The Winter Soldier stood and tried to usher the Black Widow past the officers.  One of them caught her wrist and the air exploded with noise as the scuffle started.  The Winter Soldier barely registered the bones cracking under his hands as the Black Widow sent a man flying into the windows.  Catching her hand, he dragged his lover off the bus and into the crowded streets.  They ran without stopping.

 

Winifred had been excited when Father Fredrick finally allowed Peter's aunt and uncle to take the two friends to the city.  There was an exposition going on and she was nearly shaking with excitement to learn about the new molecular possibilities.

Peter held onto Winifred's hand tightly, grinning as Uncle Ben guided the two through the crowded street towards the vendor Aunt May was waiting at.  May smiled and gave the kids a little wave with her available fingers, holding world-famous hot dogs in her hands.  Peter skipped to his aunt, Winifred right behind.  She cast a look at Uncle Ben, who gave her a smile of reassurance.  Big crowds made her uneasy, but he and May were always sure to make sure she was comfortable.  Peter meant the world to them and she meant the world to Peter so by default they had decided to take her into their little niche.  It was a good day, full of wonderful and exciting things, and then it wasn't.

Suddenly, screams arose from behind them, causing the small group to turn.  Winifred's fingers slipped from Peter's as the crowds shifted at the turn of events, people running in all directions.  Panic was red-hot in her veins, flushing her face.  She could hear Ben call her name, screaming at the top of her lungs, but she couldn't make a sound.  Somehow she ended up wandering down the street, frightened as explosions and aliens descended from the sky.

Winifred squeaked when she came face-to-face with one of the monsters.  It chittered, tilting its head at her.  The monster - Chitari soldier - stared down at the little girl, who gazed up at him with an equally horrible expression.  In her eyes, just for a moment, a universe was reflected - swirling stars and galaxies burning inside of her, a gift of her mother.  The Chitari roared, recognizing the Celestial origins of those eyes and raised his hand to strike the child (Thanos would not appreciate the Rising of Celestia interfering with his plans).

The alien was stopped short by a flying disc, the shield of Captain America hitting its target as Steve unknowingly saved the daughter of his sister and best friend.

"C'mon, doll." He rushed, lifting her away from the rubble.  Her little arms wrapped around his neck, comfortable in the hands of a strange for she recognized the blue shade of his eyes.

May Parker gave a short shout, handing flinging in Winifred's direction as Ben quickly stepped out from the cover of the coffee shop.  Steve trotted over, hesitant for a moment until Winifred peeled her face from his neck to gaze at the Parkers.

"Benny!" She giddily smiled with relief, one hand patting Steve's cheek as the other reached for the man.  Steve relaxed at her apparent recognition and gladly passed the girl off.

"Thank you.  God, Winifred." Ben snuggled her under his chin.  Winifred looked back at Steve with confused eyes as he backed away.  Steve would never forget the way those green eyes sparkled - she reminded him of Bucky.  If he had only known it was more than her eyes that were reminiscent of his lost best friend, then he wouldn't have nodded sharply and turned, joining back into the fray.

 

The day after Steve had woken up after being frozen in ice for so long - clinging to a hope of Beverly's happiness, only to have that dream dashed - was the day he truly died.  Steve was merely a walking monument of a forgotten time.  He was simply a legend of a war that stole lives and lost stories that would never get told because they hadn't the chance to come true.  Beverly Barnes was stuck forever in history books as Beverly Rogers.

And, after it all, Steve didn't really want to be happy anymore.  Challenges weren't challenging.  They couldn't hold up to the same standards of Beverly's smart mouth and Bucky's slapstick humor that made him laugh.

 _Tony Fucking Stark_ just had to come and change that with his quick quips and charming smile and dazzling brown eyes.

After the Battle of New York, the Avengers had all recouped at a Sharmwanna joint.  Steve saw past the exterior Tony put on - the engineer was too tired to play playboy billionaire blah blah blah.  All that mattered was stuffing their faces and beaming at the fact that they won.  They had survived.  Steve hadn't really expected the team to pull him head-first into an actual team - continuing the Avengers past their expiration date.  Steve let them goad him into continuing with SHIELD, who was the only group prepared to really handle him.  But no one had really told him anything about the new world.  Sure, Tony showed him tech and Natasha tried to explain current political situations and Bruce theorized about new medical practices but no one realized he was clueless about anything that had happened in the past seventy years.  That led to Steve's true heartbreak.

"Captain Rogers, please." A young agent's pleading voice rang through the hall.  Tony looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see an aggravated Captain America.  Steve's nostrils flared and those usually bright blue eyes were burning.  Fury's eye widened a fraction as Steve turned on his heel to face the Director.  His footsteps were like thunder.

"What is _this_?"

Rogers' voice was a low hiss as he shoved a piece of paper in Fury's direction.  It was a printed out newspaper article, Tony realized as he squinted for a closer look.  Beverly Rogers' photo was plastered on the front with the bolded words " _America Mourns the Loss of its Sweetheart._ "

Tony glanced at Natasha and Clint, who both looked as equally shocked as Tony felt.

"Rogers, be logical.  Withholding this from you was for your own good.  You woke up in an entirely new era-"

Steve interrupted Fury with a fiery snap.  "I don't give a damn what you think is good for me."

His mouth was curled in a scowl, eyes bloodshot and anger vibrating off him so hard Steve's whole body was shaking.  Steve took a step in Fury's space, forcing the director to literally back down.  "She was my sister and you had no right to hide this from me."

"Do not call for me again.  I'm done.  You can have the fucking shield and the damn suit.  Beverly was a woman to be respected," Steve snarled, his eyes were in thin slits but Tony could see the pure glittering rage inside, "not held back for your own selfish shit."

When Steve stormed off, Fury quietly asked Natasha to make sure Steve didn't hurt himself.  Tony stared with Clint as the director motioned Maria into his office, the door closing with a slam.  And Natasha had talked to Steve, it appeared, because he was at the next meeting - albeit quieter than usual.  In the end, he shuffled forward and asked to speak with Tony privately.  Clint nodded at the two and even clapped Cap on the shoulder as they walked out.  Tony guessed they'd already talked.  Steve spoke first, all soft and shy compared to the rage he'd had the last time in SHIELD quarters.

"I'm sorry you had to see me... like that." Steve awkwardly apologized.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  Tony tried not to gape.

"Steve, you had all the right to do so.  I'm sorry for not realizing you didn't know."

Those blue eyes were so sad, filled with the sort of self-inflicted misery Tony knew all too well.

"It's alright, I suppose.  I see what he was trying to do for me.  Just wish, you know..." Steve trailed off.

Tony quickly came to the realization that, while the rest of the world had moved on to celebrating her, the loss of Beverly Rogers was still a fresh grief for Steve.  He was mourning.  Slowly and painfully and alone.

"Steve, are you sure you're okay?"

And Steve thought Tony was a blessing, but he didn't want him to see him so broken.  Steve had planned on keeping the conversation short because he was finding it difficult to hold in his conflicting emotions involving Beverly's disappearance.  Captain America wasn't supposed to be broken.  Captain America was supposed to stand strong, make sure everybody made it out okay, keep 'em safe and secure.  Crying wasn't gonna get that job done and it sure as Hell wasn't gonna bring Beverly back.

"Fine," Steve lied.  "Just trying to take it all in still."

He curled his fingers into fists as if that could give him balance but it felt like he was swaying anyway.  His head felt like it was spinning and God, all he wanted was for everything to _stop_.

"It's okay, you know.  She was your sister.  You're allowed to be upset.  Hell, I wouldn't blame you if you took a swing at someone." Tony protested, and he did he even know that was the problem?  His voice was all gentle and soft and everything Beverly's had been whether she'd been crooning in church or telling Steve it was gonna be alright or...

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tight.  Tony's hand landed on Steve's shoulder when he failed to respond.  His touch was so warm, so alive.  Steve's grief over the loss of his sister pulsated under his skin with it.  Steve lost it.

"I thought I was dying for her."

Silence met Steve's confession.  Tony cleared his throat, blinking owlishly.

"That wouldn't make anyone think less of you.  She was your sister."

Steve couldn't help but let out a hoarse cold laugh.  Tony slipped to stand beside him, suddenly, his hand now on Steve's arm.  His grip had grown tighter and it sent shivers of reassurance down Steve's spine.

"It was never your fault.  You can't blame yourself for her disappearance.  You did everything you could to protect her."

And, God, those words felt like everything Steve need to hear.  And yet, deep in his gut, they felt so wrong.


	25. The New Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Steve begins to grow close with the Avengers and finding himself.
> 
> Beverly and James begin to tear apart, due to the stress of having to let go of their daughter and trying to deceive Hydra into its downfall.
> 
> This is like a parallel in a way?

(Stark Tower)

"Why are you two - I'm sorry, three - looking through my things again?" Steve asked with faint amusement trickling into his voice as he sat down at the opposite end of the couch than Tony.  He wasn't quite sure of how own control around the engineer, especially when all Tony had to do was smile and his heart was roaring inside his chest.

Shaking the thoughts away, Steve returned his focus to the assassins in his living room.  He snickered as Clint fought the duct tape holding the boxes closed.  Natasha merely rolled her eyes and flipped out her knife.  Pepper Potts was already half-way through to opening one box, but it was disappointingly full of letters from fans and politicians like the presidents and senators thanking Steve for his contributes.  When she had peeked under those, she discovered speeches and letters of condolences about Beverly's disappearance and decided to show Steve those in a less public space.  She was one of the only non-Avengers that Steve had really taken a liking to and Tony had been glad to arrange their schedules - secretly, of course - to allow them some time to bond.  Bruce had sat down in a recliner, watching with an amused quiet smile.

"Because you said you haven't opened any of this since you got unfrozen, Cap.  What if there's a dead body?"

Clint grinned menacingly.  Natasha scolded Clint by kicking him and Pepper pushed away from her box slightly in apprehension.  Rolling his eyes, Steve took a sip of his beer.

"Alright, but it's probably just war memorabilia or medical paraphilia," Steve admitted, much to the souring of his friends' expressions.

"That sounds just sad, Steve." Pepper sighed, very overly-dramatically, as she gave him a very disappointed look.  Steve laughed, for her response reminded him of an annoyed Beverly.

"You are telling me that you never got anything for fun?  Not even one porn mag or... or what did they do for fun back in your day?" Clint asked, his head tilted to the side.  Natasha smacked him again, but this time with her own smile threatening to break through to the surface.  Steve couldn't help but let the laugh erupt from his chest.

"We did plenty of things for fun." Steve chuckled.  Tony raised a shaped brow with a slight huff.

"Like what, Cap?  Play checkers?"

It was almost spoken like a challenge.  It lit that fire inside of Steve.  He tramped down on it, but couldn't quite let it burn out.  The warmth was too much to resist.

"Well, I did.  But I was practically always down in bed, sick with anything you could imagine every few days.  When I wasn't, my sister would drag us dancing."

It almost felt like a weight was lifted off his chest to have that sweet memory relieved, to see an image of Beverly and Bucky twirling flash before his eyes.

"So, you dance?" Pepper grinned like a Cheshire cat.  Natasha too had gotten an evil look.  Steve shook his head in decline.  He wasn't quite ready to share that he knew everything from the jitterbug to the waltz, courteous of Beverly Rogers.  It was something special the siblings had shared and he wasn't ready to let go of that secret connection.

"Sadly, not the dances I believe any of you would know."  Steve smiled at Pepper's exaggerated pout.

"Aha, I win this round box!" Clint shouted as he finally ripped the box open.

"So you did not dance but you _did_ paint," Natasha smirked as she peered into the box with Clint.  Instantly everyone was intrigued.

"No way.  Who is this hottie?" Clint whistled as he pulled out a painting.  Thor proclaimed that he too thought the maiden was of beauty as Clint showed it off.

Steve's throat had tightened, pain swelling in his chest at those bright blue eyes so similar to his own.  They were so clear, full of purpose with everything that she took on.  Beverly never did anything half-heartedly not even posing for a painting.  Auburn curls cascaded down her shoulders, a shimmering waterfall that made Steve's fingers itch to feel the real thing _one last time._   Ruby red lips curved into that ever-present smirk, the one Bucky always swore made him fall for her.  Truthfully, just as Steve had always found them so enchanting, he knew it was her eyes that had done so: the way she could create a universe inside them.

Steve hardly heard Tony say his name.  His voice was soft, but the earnest tone was what drew him from his thoughts.  Steve's eyes flickered to the side, suddenly finding a concerned Pepper, who smiled sympathetically.  Steve forced one corner of his mouth to curl upwards.

"My sister, Beverly."

The color seemed to drain from Clint's face as he realized he had most likely called Steve's deceased sister a "hottie."  Steve couldn't help but laugh.  Natasha, however, appeared to be the most amused by the archer's panic.  Her eyes danced with laughter.

"It's alright, Clint.  Bev would've taken it as a compliment." Steve assured his poor friend that he was in no danger of being pummeled.  "In fact, I'm quite sure the only one who would have been offended by you would've been Bucky."

Steve's mouth twitched at the thought.  Laughter filled the room and the two assassins on the floor went back to digging through Steve's things.

"My dad talked about her.  One hell of a woman." Tony gave a nod, and Steve sensed his respect for Beverly as their eyes met.  His mouth twitched again.

"She had the best time making his life hell if that is what you mean.  Beverly painted one of his cars come color.  A hot-rod red, I think, is what she called it."

A wide grin split Tony's face.  Steve's heart melted.

"You know I was wondering whose designs those belonged to.  Dad wasn't much of a hot-rod red kinda guy."

Steve laughed and shook his head.  "Oh no, he hated it.  Somehow, though, Beverly managed to convince him to keep it.  That woman could charm the skin right off a snake."

 

(A Hydra basement)

"God, why didn't you run?" The Winter Soldier shouted, towering over his wife.  His eyes gleamed in the darkness of the bedroom, light glinting off metal and bare skin.  He was angry, the emotion a blossoming red across his face, highlighting the veins in his neck.  And it was understandable, of course, for him to be upset.  The lovers had landed in an entirely different kind of hell, and they had lost so much.  But this anger - this rage, it was entirely personal grievances that were ignited, a doubt of reliability on something he couldn't see or touch or take a bullet for.

Beverly frowned, shrinking into herself before blooming once more, all the more defiant in her impertinence.  The woman straightened her back and stepped forward, hands resting on her hips.

"How could you ever expect me to leave a God-given miracle?"

James laughed, hysterically and bitter.  His metal hand clicked as it banged against the wall beside her head, startling Beverly so she backed against the wall with wide eyes.  With a snarl, the Winter Soldier struck the wooden bedpost so hard it cracked.

"This was not a gift from God.  This is a curse from the Devil himself."

For a moment, James looked every bit the horrible creature that Hydra had molded him to be - and for the first time in a very very long time, Beverly was afraid of him.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she took a step back, staring at her lover with awe-struck eyes.  Beverly's fingers rubbed together, as they might if she was holding rosary beads.

"You can't mean that.  Buck -" Her hands pressed against her mouth as tears curled down her cheeks, nearly calling him the name that had been banned from their tongues for over sixty years.  The Winter Soldier's chest deflated at the broken look that crossed his lover's face.  He hated making her feel this way as if she was alone in her faith.  He hated it when she felt alone at all.

"I'm sorry, doll.  Sweetheart, I just..." His hands ran through thick locks in frustration.  "I just don't believe anymore."

Beverly shook her head, still clutching onto her religious beliefs with all that she had.  For a moment, things were silent.  The absence of sound rung in their ears.  Then, she spoke - a trembling voice that James almost didn't hear.

"I was gonna break it - my promise to Steve," Beverly whispered, closing her eyes tight with a confession that made James pause.  "He told me to live, made me swear I would.  But I just couldn't do it anymore, baby.  I was gonna do it, pour a bunch'a pills down my throat and swallow but then - I felt your hands."

James pushed his face into hers, pressing their foreheads together.


	26. Captain America: The Winter Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves extremely important events, such as Steve realizing Bucky is alive but he is the Winter Soldier now, James' escape from Hydra but Beverly is still stuck with them, and Winifred catches a glimpse of a figure she recognizes terrorizing a highway on TV.
> 
> INCOMPLETE

The Winter Soldier followed behind his lover, who was following Pierce.  He was an ever-present figure as the Head and the scientist traveled about the base, like a shadow - one that Beverly could not and would never shake.  He may have the teeth of a wolf, but she knew that beneath the blank emptiness of his green eyes was a wicked fire that breathed smoke into her lungs.  His touch was soft as the Soldier discreetly pressed the tips of his fingers into the small of her back.  The touched thrilled Beverly, made her skin vibrate with excitement.  In her veins, the Black Widow clawed and screamed to be let free.  Beverly would not let her out - she would kill everything in sight and drag their lover right through the blood.  The Black Widow would ruin everything, for she did not like a failure.

Pierce noisily cleared his throat to catch Beverly's attention.

"The Winter Soldier has a mission," he began as they started up a flight of stairs, "one that will begin our reveal from the shadows."

The Winter Soldier wasn't listening, for he was making sure that Beverly would not fall down the stairs.  Beverly listened for him.  Upon reaching the top of the stairs, close to seventy soldiers snapped to attention and saluted them.  Beverly gave a nod for them to stand down.  Pierce scowled, but he had long accepted the soldiers' respect for the Black Widow.  Baron Von Strucker had once told him, unbeknownst to Beverly, that the soldiers' respect and clear admiration for the woman was the reason that Pierce and himself, along with all the other Heads of Hydra, should fear her.  He knew it would only take a snap of Beverly's fingers to bring Hydra to ruins.

As the group walked, Pierce motioned an agent to step forward.  The agent was older, less-physically able to complete rigorous work than most of Pierce's favorites.  It was strange, unusual, and Beverly immediately felt her hackles rise in awareness.  She took notice of his nervous fidget, but striking fear into the hearts of cowards was not as satisfying as it had once been.  Beverly decided it would be more satisfying to discover why Pierce had called the agent to their attention.

"Let me introduce you to Agent Jasper Sitwell.  He is a high-up agent of SHIELD, and he has managed to infiltrate our enemy successfully.  Sitwell has earned the trust of many of SHIELD's agents.  Jasper, you know who they are."

The Head of Hydra gestured to the assassins as if they were not deadly pieces of Hydra's inner-workings.  Sitwell hesitantly met Beverly's eyes, only to force his gaze away at the emptiness inside.  Pierce grinned wolfishly, even as the Soldier crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive stance.  Beverly had come to believe that the Hydra head enjoyed the Winter Soldier putting on displays of his protective instincts.

"Yes.  It is an honor to meet you both." Sitwell offered a hand but quickly dropped it when the Soldier made no indication of reciprocating.

Beverly shifted, a sigh stuck in her throat as a metal hand gently curved along her arm.  It was a gesture of tenderness and adoration, an act of possessive desire.  Beverly's heart trembled in her chest.  The Winter Soldier spoke in gentle Russian as he whispered into my ear.  Sitwell grew even more nervous - all his emotions apparent on his face - and looked away, as if not to intrude on a private moment.  Beverly could still feel James' dislike radiating off him in waves.

Pierce frowned.  Though he did not know Russian, he could assume the Winter Soldier was not speaking nicely of Agent Sitwell.  "Soldier, Sitwell is Hydra.  You will give him the respect he commands, is that clear?"

James' cold green eyes promised nothing as he merely glanced at Pierce before returning his attention to Beverly's body.  It was clear that the assassins would choose who they wanted to give their respect.

 

Steve grinned to himself, slowing to a jog as he approached the man he had been teasing for the past few weeks.  He was light-hearted about Steve's taunts and always had a witty report waiting.  It was a nice banter that helped relieve Steve's mind about Beverly, about the past, and about his uncertain future.

"You okay?" Steve asked, but his smile wouldn't drop from his mouth.  The man panted, his eyes sparkling, and gave a rough nod.  He laughed, shaking his head.

"Sam Wilson." The man offered, taking the hand that Steve had put out.  Steve hauled Sam to his feet, smiling as he knocked him off balance slightly.

"Steve Rogers."

Sam Wilson laughed, bright and warm, reminding Steve of seventy years ago when the days had been rough but there had always been laughter.

"I figured." Sam retorted.  His hands landed on his hips, tilting his head to the side as if he was really looking at Steve.  Steve gave one more friendly smile before beginning to walk away.  He was surprised when Sam called after him.

"It's the bed, right?  Too soft?"  Steve turned, swallowed because no one really got it that quick.

"I work with the VA," Sam revealed.  "Wouldn't mind if you stopped by sometimes, checked out our sessions, gave me some cred with the receptionist."

Steve nodded, took a breath, and gave a smile that Beverly would have scowled at.  "Yeah, but you know, the modern age is pretty great.  Computers.  So helpful."

Sam laughed.  Behind them, Steve could hear the rev of an engine before there was a series of honks.

"Hey," Natasha's voice was familiar and the sound of it made Steve grin, "you two boys know where the Smithsonian is?  I'm picking up a fossil."

Steve let his shoulders shake with a chuckle, tossing Sam a grin, as he walked over to the car.  "That's really funny.  Good one."

 

"So, what about Clara?  That nice girl from tactics?" Natasha's voice was quizzical and Steve held in a laugh at her attempts to set him up with someone.  She had been trying vigorously and had even gotten Clint and Pepper in the mix.  How she convinced Pepper, he didn't want to know but the other woman had tried to set up on a date with some celebrity named Katy Perry but Steve was quite sure he wasn't ready for romance.  Well, and, he sort'a had eyes for a certain engineer who flew around in a metal suit.

He shook his head in decline, offering her a look of condolences at another failed attempt.  "I told you.  I'm too busy."

Steve got a glare that was hard enough, he could feel it burning ASSHOLE in cursive onto the skin of his back.  " _Go on,_ " Steve thought to himself, " _you won't win unless you put a man up for the running._ "  He could almost imagine the shock on her face if he told her that.  It made him smile to picture Natasha's surprise.

She stared at him intensely, as if trying to figure him out.  Steve knew she wasn't going to be able to, not unless he hinted to it or even went as far as to tell her outright.  His so-called romance with Peggy Carter had reassured the world of his heterosexuality, while in actuality Peggy had spent her precious time in a tent hiding a hickey - it'd been high up on his neck as a parting gift from a handsome French baker named Claude Monroe - from the press that worked on the base.

Bucky's given him hell for that one, though Beverly had walked around like a puffed-up peacock.  She always acted as if she had been a part of Steve's escapades somehow, always fluffed with pride and approval of his promiscuity.  Though, to be honest, Steve hadn't done much of it and was overall horribly inexperienced.  But Beverly had always been proud.  Steve assumed it was because she was always harping on him to embrace his sexuality as apart of who he was...

Steve shook the thoughts from his head.  Straightening his back, he nodded at Natasha to follow.  Not too long later, he was helping Natasha to her feet after the explosion.  He was grinding his teeth together in aggravation, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Don't speak," Steve ordered when she opened her mouth.  She wasn't going to explain herself, he knew.  She hadn't been trained to do that.  Steve was already walking towards the door.  He knocked the other man out the second he sprang from the shadows.  I had anticipated his attack with glee and felt the need to hit something in irritation.

"You know," Natasha began, causing Steve's eyes to roll towards her, "all that pent-up aggression could really just be sexual aggression waiting to be released."  She spoke in a factual manner, eyes innocent although Steve knew it was an act.  He had to let out a huff of a laugh at her coy acting.  Natasha's mouth quirked up a little.

"You really can't help it, can you?" Steve asked as he rubbed a hand over his face.

"No.  So what about Hannah?  You know, from Logistics who loves to stare at your ass?"

 

(Hydra Van in Washington)

"Your target is approaching," Beverly informed the Winter Soldier.  Her eyes racked the security cameras' feed as the black van carrying the target raced through traffic.  She snorted at the cop's car being pummeled by the semi: The target was intelligent.

"Ready." Her lover reported, stepping out from the shadows of an alley.  Beverly almost had to close her eyes as the van did not slow down as the Winter Soldier walked into the road, raising his weapon.  The car flipped and dust caked the air.  Beverly did not finish watching as Rumlow cursed, grabbing her arm and yanking the woman to her feet.

The target had escaped.

 

"Why was he at your house, Captain?" Hill asked.  Her voice was cautious, careful.  Steve shrugged, putting on the mask not many thought he was skilled enough to have.  Natasha had lost hers, stuck staring at Nick's body with lonely eyes.  Steve ushered out when Hill asked.

In his pocket, the flash drive was burning a hole.

Rumlow told Steve that he was wanted in Alexander Pierce's office, the Secretary of Defense.  Quick-thinking had panic blooming in his veins until Steve noticed the vending machine.  It would have to do, and it'd been a smart move in the end when everything went to hell and he was declared an enemy of SHIELD.

At SHIELD, the secretary's eyes followed Steve as he greeted Alexander Pierce.  Her eyes were piercing and blue and everything about them screamed at him to run.  He glanced over his shoulder on last time, curious, and found her speaking low into the phone.  Her eyes still remained on his figure.

No one knew that she recognized his eyes too.

 

(Pierce's Home)

The night was growing darker as the morning drew closer, but Beverly had not allowed her eyes to fall shut.  Anxious and worried, she rested her hands against her stomach.  It was as if she could feel the twisted knots growing inside.  Their own secret plans were not going accordingly, and she wondered if somehow Pierce had found out.  He had, after all, sequestered her to his guest bedroom.  She hated this room, with the picture of Winifred sitting on the nightstand.  It was meant to mock her choices.  But, there was something else on her mind.  The Winter Soldier had not yet returned and she feared for the worst.

As Beverly shifted on her side to glance at the clock, the sound of a door opening and slamming shut resonated throughout the house.  She waited with her breath stuck in her throat for any indication of who the intruder could be.

Boot feet thudded on the wood flooring.

Beverly sprang from her bed, throwing the sheets back, and hurried down the stairs.  She rounded the corner and came to a stop, breathing in the welcome sight with wonder.  The Winter Soldier had taken a chair at the dining table, tired eyes and a hollow face.  Sweat and dust were plastered to his face and hair; it stuck to him like a second skin.

Beverly could have sobbed with relief when his eyes met her own.

She approached him without dread, taking to her knees.  She placed her hands on his feet, leaning her cheek against his thigh.  His fingers trembled slightly as they drifted through her hair, and she watched as his eyes slid shut at the familiar touch.  They stayed there in silence until the kitchen light flicked on and Pierce's footsteps disturbed their peace.  The Head of Hydra ignored the couple, walking over to the fridge instead - as if he was unconcerned with the two tired assassins resting in his kitchen.  He searched, finding the milk carton, and withdrew from the cold.

"You want any?" Pierce asked James, motioning to the milk.  Her lover merely stared at him.  Pierce shrugged his shoulders and poured the milk into a little cup.  Beverly returned her attention to James, taking to his arm.  The mechanics were too tight, restricting his movement and his ability to perform his best in combat.  Pierce raised a brow, taking the seat opposite of the Winter Soldier.

"I've got a new mission for you, Soldier."

Everything went to hell after that, starting with the shock of a once-familiar name.

 

"Bucky?" The stranger gasped.  He sounded like the Black Widow when the pair was reunited, the shock that shone in her eyes and the fear that vibrated on her skin present in the man's silhouette.  The Winter Soldier forced himself not to stumble at the familiarity.  He did not know how he was knowledgeable of the Black Widow but understood the stranger was attempting to distract him from his mission.

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

The name tasted funny on his tongue, but it sounded right.  The man only looked as if the Winter Soldier had punched the air right out of his lungs.  His expression frustrated James and he lunged.  James couldn't recall what happened after that.  It was a blur, hidden by memories insistently pressing at the base of his skull.  When he found himself leaning heavily against a wall, back in an alley, all he could think about was the man's expression.  Until his head began to spin, thoughts immediately tumbling to his companion.  Where was she?  Where was his Widow?

The Man on the bridge had it wrong.  He was James, the Winter Soldier, created to be the perfect super-soldier and the ultimate weapon for Hydra's path of destruction.  But memories, long forgotten yet terrifyingly clear, began to dance around in his head.  James' fist tightened as one image flashed before his eyes.

His Little Spider was grinning back at him, her tiny hands reaching up and taking hold of his own.  Red bundles of curls blew about in the wind and highlighted crisp green eyes.  Then, quite suddenly, years had passed but the same eyes stared up at him with the same pleading nature.  Yet, now, those eyes were pleading in an entirely different manner.  His Little Spider was older, matured, and much more dangerous.  She blocked his target, but he could not leave the mission incomplete.  Not when they would punish the woman whose cries penetrated even this memory...

James bit down hard, enough to draw blood, on his tongue to make the images go away.  Readjusting his grip on his gun, he clutched it to his chest.  The Black Widow would tell him.  She knew everything, made it soft instead of harsh.  She balanced the memories calling out for attention, to be remembered after so long of being burned from existence.  She would know who the Man on the bridge was.

He let himself be pushed forward into a dark van.  It smelt like lilac inside, something about the scent soothing the twisting knots in his stomach.

 

(Queens, The Parker House-Hold)

Winifred sat at May's table, curlers in her hair as Peter's aunt flitted around the kitchen looking for the nail polish.  Winifred was reluctant to tell the woman that it was behind the picture of Ben because she wasn't quite as enthusiastic as May was about her makeover.  Directly opposed to his best friend's gloomier expression, Peter sat cheerfully beside her.  His smile was wide and his hands propped up his chin in delight as Peter gleefully watched Winifred get a makeover from his excited aunt.  Unfortunately for the young girl, Winifred had mentioned that she had an important gymnastics meet over the weekend and Aunt May had taken it as a challenge to glamorize her nephew's friend.  Winifred had managed to get on an upstart team a few months ago, but this would be the first competition that she was participating in.  The makeover and playing grumpy were actually taking her mind off her nerves, something May had hoped would work.

Although the two kids only saw each other as capable of understanding one another, May could see past even Winifred's cold exterior for the painfully lonely young girl that she was.  She hadn't been able to get much information out of Father Fredrick, the priest who has been Winifred's legal guardian since she was nearly five years old, about Winifred's past life or her parents, but May understood that it had left a dark impression on Winifred.  Overall, May loved Winifred as if she was her own - something that hadn't been hard to do when her nephew had grown increasingly attached to the reserved girl over the years.

"Hey, look at the TV." Winifred sat up straighter, forgetting her drying toenails and walked towards the screen.  Peter followed after her - May noticed how he watched his friend instead of the television, and she believed there would never be a day that he wouldn't be willing to follow Winifred.  For Peter, although the presently-live news was interesting - a man fighting Captain America and the Black Widow on the highway - he was more interested in Winifred's expression.  He'd seen it before when she showed him the picture of her parents stuck in the corner of her pillow.

"I know him." She whispered to Peter.  "I know him."

 

"S-sir.  He's unstable.  Erratic." One of the scientists managed, stumbling behind Alexander Pierce as he stalked into the room.  The Winter Soldier stared at nothing, lost.  The Head of Hydra confidently motioned for the guns to be put away.  He paraded forward, expecting nothing less than the asset's full attention.  He received nothing, not even when he demanded the mission report.  The Winter Soldier hardly registered his voice, continuing to stare at nothing, images of a past life flashing before his eyes.

Pierce's palm connected with his cheek in a stinging burn that snapped the Winter Soldier back to the present.

"The man on the bridge," he offered, still confused by the memories and the faces, "who was he?"

Pierce's eyes flickered and the Winter Soldier knew he would not tell the truth.  "You met him earlier this week on another assignment.  He was your next target."

The Winter Soldier glanced down, his brows furrowed in disbelief.  He could see pale limbs and frail bones flare.  It was an agonizing feeling, the concern rising in his chest, the blade of fear digging between his ribs.  God, why did those blue eyes remind him of so many things?  Why did they make this reality seem so suddenly unchanging - familiar in ways that his tortured existance felt only fleetingly?

"I know him."

Pierce looked disappointed at the Winter Soldier's realization.  He slid a stool towards himself before taking a seat, settling in front of the assassin.  Pierce clasped his hands, looking down at him condescendingly as if the Winter Soldier was merely an ignorant child.  The Winter Soldier couldn't focus his gaze on the Head of Hydra.  His head was starting to spin at the laugh - God, it was just like music - that could be heard floating down the halls.

"Your work has been a gift.  You shaped the century."

Pierce's words stirred anger in the Winter Soldier's traitorous body and he glared at the superior as the world grew fuzzier - the entire universe seemed to be focused on the bubbling giggle.  It was his tenuous anchor in the deepening sea of forgetfulness that followed him wherever he went - a light that could never shine bright enough for him to see further into the darkness that plagued his past.

"I need you to do it one more time."

The Winter Soldier lifted his head in understanding, but he still felt the confusion burning in the bay of his mind.  Pierce continued to stare him down.  His eyes were dead and empty of remorse for the world he had condemned to James' bloody hands.

"The world is at a tipping point between order and chaos.  Tomorrow morning, we're gonna give it a push."

From behind the Hydra head, Brock Rumlow stared on with concern.  He stared with an expression of a man who knew he was not worthy to be worried but felt the useless emotion anyway.  Pierce continued, uncaring of the tremors that ran through the Winter Soldier's tired limbs.

"But if don't do your part, I can't do mine."

The Winter Soldier knew the implications of those words as an image of the woman slid to the front of his mind.  A shiver slid up his spine at the way his lover fell, the way sweat dripped down her pale skin, the way her eyes were full of such pain and desperation.  He remembered the agony of his son's cheek sliding away from his fingers.  He could still recall the fell of his wife's tears dripping onto his shoulder as they mourned the loss of another child.  He would never tell that he had not forgotten the bright-eyed little girl with his wife's mind and his eyes.

Pierce's voice snapped him back to attention as he continued.  "And Hydra can't give the world the freedom it deserves."

The Winter Soldier swallowed.  He knew that Pierce did not mean the world as one would assume.  Alexander Pierce meant the woman - the Winter Soldier's Widow, James' world.  Alexander Pierce meant the young girl and boy that sometimes sat in her arms when he dreamed.  Alexander Pierce meant the toddler that had taken their place in his dreams, the one who grinned delightedly up at her with shining green eyes.

The Winter Soldier looked at Pierce again, still wavering between lives.

"But... I knew him." James protested softly, mistaking for the first time the man's concern for victory for concern for the woman and himself, for the children of varying faces that flocked to her.  Pierce sighed and readjusted his seat on the stool.  His eyes flickered as he thought it over.  When he stood abruptly, anger in his figure, James knew what would come from his admittance.

"Wipe him."

The order only confirmed what the Winter Soldier already knew.  One of the scientists spoke up, trying to explain that James had simply been out of cyro-freeze too long.  Pierce's snake-like eyes glared hard at the Winter Soldier, unforgiving and hateful.

"Then wipe him and start over."

Arms restrained him, though the Winter Soldier did not fight as he was shoved back into the chair.  He knew what would come of this wipe, knew Pierce no longer cared if he remembered the Black Widow at all.  But he knew that he would.  She was unforgettable in the way that panic was.  The Winter Soldier passively obeyed, staring at Pierce with all the hatred in his beaten body.  Rumlow looked unsure, mouth half open as if he was preparing to protest.  James could feel the fear shaking in his bones but willingly opened his mouth for the teeth-guard.  There was the flick of the switch before the world was blurring into a thousand different colors.  It burned like it did every time.

 

Bruises were scattered across her lover's skin, peppered here and there from the fight he had picked with someone she understood was not his target.  The Winter Soldier's back was littered with dark scrapes, and it hurt her to see him so broken.  Beverly held in a sigh as the Winter Soldier tugged off his thick pants, revealing more cuts and bruises.  Worrying her lip between her teeth, she forced herself to turn her gaze back to the mirror.

Rough hands curled around her biceps before they slid to her slim shoulders.  Beverly watched as his fingers took her hair and twisted it into a bun.  The sight filled her heart with warmth, for the comfort of the touch was welcome.  When he stepped away, Beverly's hair loosely fell back to her shoulders.

"You are leaving tomorrow.  I am staying at the control center.  I'll be on the comms." She reminded James as he stared suspiciously at the packed bag that sat on the floor.  He nodded, seemingly content with that idea.

"You will be safe." He announced.  The Winter Soldier reached out, almost absentmindedly, to recurl his fingers in her hair.

"I am safe whenever I am with you." She assured him gently.  A smile took over James' mouth and he stepped in behind her.  He gently took her hair in his hands, gathering it all and softly pulling, wrapping it around his fist before letting the stands fall.  Beverly knew it was a nervous gesture, toying with her hair, and watched as he splayed his hand at the base of her neck.

"If we are separated, remember the rendezvous point." She reminded.

"Yes, the place where I first saw you again.  I remember." James promised.  He smiled.

Beverly knew that she would never make it out from under Pierce's thumb, from Hydra's grasp, as long as there were followers of the cult.  This did not mean her husband could not escape them.  Once he was safe, she could begin her own plot for Hydra's downfall.  Their daughter was out of harm's way and none of the Heads could change that now.

James thought pleasantly on how their life would be soon after they had escaped.  Beverly thought of how wonderful it would be, once her family was finally safe.

 

(The Day of SHEILD's Collapse)

"The Soldier is ready, sir." A grunt called to Rumlow, who had been put in charge of the arrival of the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow at SHIELD headquarters.  The agent nodded his head with the ultimate power to decide both of the assassins' fates.  It made Beverly hate Brock Rumlow even more.

"I am not ready." The Winter Soldier countered, pressing a hand against the flat of his lover's back.  His chest was aching, for he had stared into her eyes for hours the previous night.  He had watched them staring back at him, unable to fall closed and into sleep.  The Winter Soldier could feel she was keeping some secret tucked away in the folds of her mind.  He was wary, trusting her explicitly but feared her love for him had led to a choice that would leave her trapped in Hydra's grasp.  He couldn't bring himself to part from her.

"I will leave when the Widow is secure." The metal plating hummed pleasantly as he curled a strand of white hair around his hand, holding the hair back so he could see the side of her face.  Those blue eyes blinked, quickly, but he saw the tears gathering on her lashes.  Beverly looked up at him and nothing about her eyes soothed his distress.

"Now is not the time, lovely.  I'll be fine.  Go be a bad boy." She teased, tugging at the fabric of his suit.  Her voice was full of uncertainty, convincing the Winter Soldier she merely feared for the future.  Forgoing his planned protest, the Winter Soldier simply grinned wicked and warm.

"Be a good girl for me." He winked as he backed away.  His fingers hesitated to let go of hers, but they untangled as the Soldier walked too far to hold on any longer.  Beverly held in a sigh and turned back to Rumlow.  She did not watch him walk away.  Her heart couldn't stand to watch him leave a second time.

 

"Take the left wing." The Winter Soldier snorted at his lover's insistent tone, spilling out from the comm pressed into his ear.  The sound of it helped alleviate his insecurity about their choice.  She was still safe, the plan was still working.

"You know you don't have the clearance to give me orders, doll.  Not since '09 when you made me shoot a piñata."

From the other end of the line, a laugh warmed him more than the sun ever could.  "That is not what you said last night.  Take the left wing and get rid of SHIELD's air support.  Be careful."

It was the last thing James heard Beverly say.

Before the Winter Soldier knew what was really happening, he was on the helicarrier.  His comm had gone dead and he was staring down the target - the man from the bridge.  The man's breath came out in rasps, heavy and hard as if he was in more pain than he was showing.  The stranger (so familiar for a stranger) had been saying something a moment before, but the Winter Soldier had been intent on shutting him up before something clicked in his well-battered head.

"Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

The words made the Winter Soldier pause, unblinking as he stared at Captain America laying beneath him - face beaten to a pulp, a sight that was somehow unbelievably familiar.  He remembered grief in those blue eyes, and fear as another grave was filled.  James felt a surge of affection and raw shock pour into his chest, but then metal was creaking.  He released his hold on the man, unable to hold his grasp tight enough as a wave of emotions washed over.  The Winter Soldier watched, something building inside, as the man fell.  James dove after him.

He dragged him - Steve was the only name he could think of but somehow something about it still didn't feel quite right - out of the water.  The Winter Soldier's wet hair was plastered to his forehead and his arm gave a whir of protest at the weight of the man after such a demanding fight.  James heaved him onto the short, his own breath turning rough from the exertion and the injuries he had procured.

Staring for a moment, James felt a surge of protectiveness that he reserved for his lover, for Her, for - her name had slipped away amidst the confusion, and the Winter Soldier could suddenly not remember the shape of her face.  Words, James didn't know why, bubbled in his chest and out of his throat, words that slipped off his tongue as if the syllables had been waiting within his larynx for decades, waiting to be spoken.

"Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

The Winter Soldier's voice was rough, but James could not tell if it was from the strenuous fight or from the emotion that was beginning to clog his senses.  He found himself crouching down, fingers grasping this stranger's chin, before the blue eyes that struck James as deadly familiar began to flicker open and he was gone, dragging himself through the trees with voices of what felt like a hundred past lives ringing through his head.  There was a singular constant, it seemed, and the Winter Soldier thanked God for the woman's soothing tone that echoed in every life he had endured.

He dropped his comm to the ground, ignored the desire to talk into it because James couldn't remember who he wanted to talk to.

_"Winter Soldier?  Soldier - James?"_


	27. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. Life got a little busy, and it is about to get a lot more busy so many apologies in advance.
> 
> Quick explanation: Beverly has decided to destroy Hydra on her own, so she pretends to have not orchestrated her husband's escape. James' memories have split, turning Beverly and the Black Widow into two separate people in his mind - thus causing some emotional distress and problems down the line for our angsty soldier. Steve, too, is gonna be angsty because that is how this chapter is gonna roll.
> 
> Side note: Peter Quill reenters the story with a few of his own tidbits.

(Hospital)

As Steve slowly found his way to consciousness, he was almost sure that he was back in his old Brooklyn apartment: Beverly worriedly hovering over him as Steve fought the new fever he’d managed to catch.  Steve could almost hear the faint laughter of Bucky in the background, the soft hum of his voice telling her not to fret.  He heard his best friend chuckle, ‘ _you know Stevie’s too damn stubborn to let a measly, little cold be the thing that takes him out._ ’  Beverly’s voice was a sharp scolding that nearly made Steve grin.

Instead, he groggily woke up to the reality of the disconcerting sensation of slightly unfamiliar fingers running slowly through his hair.  They were not nimble nor lively nor nippy nor graceful, nor were they  _anything_  like Beverly.  It sparked something like an irritated fire inside Steve.  Nothing was like his sister, he knew instinctively, and she was missing from him – like he was an incomplete stain-glass window, unable to finish its story without that single piece.  Desolation threated to swallow him, so Steve took it out on the strange hand.

“Fuck  _off_ ,” he grumbled crossly, trying to swat the hand away.  It retreated and Steve let a pleased huff of air leave his lips as he resettled in the wondrous cushions he’d found himself on.  His content aura did not last.  Voices (God, didn’t they  _know_  Beverly was the only one that Steve wanted to hear!) bounced in an unsynchronized rhythm around him before Steve could hear the sound of a door opening and closing.  The faint scent of spicy food caught his interested nose as the door’s knob squealed and its hinges creaked.

“Hey, I brought back Mexican.”  Tony Stark’s voice was a soothing and unanticipated balm to all the wretched noise.  Steve’s ears drank it in like sweet music, though his words were — admittedly — fairly disappointing.  Steve felt comfortable in the swell of that voice as it brushed out the tangles in his mind.  It straightened out the mess of his head, though it still felt like Steve was swimming in waters too deep.  For a brief moment, Steve wondered if this was how his father felt when he hit the water.

“How’s the capsicle?”

At Tony’s questioning tone, Steve forced his unexpectedly heavy eyes open, so he could drink in the sight of the handsome engineer.  Bruce, upsettingly enough to the soldier, was the only thing that he could see at the moment.  Steve grew vexed and scowled — although a little lopsidedly — as viciously as he could towards the doctor.  It looked a little more like an unsatisfied grimace, but no one was going to tell their Captain that.

“I would say he’s awake and grumpy!” Clint’s unwavering timbre called from somewhere at Steve’s side, hidden away in the corner where Steve couldn’t actually see him.  Bruce was checking something on his head, despite Steve’s erratic attempts to escape the mysterious scrutiny.  His nose wrinkled up in a nettled and displeased fashion as the doctor continued his investigation.  Steve sluggishly swatted at the hand, although he couldn’t quite gather up the effort to get his hand elevated high enough in the air to actually make any contact.

“Fuck off.” Steve groaned once more, though a little more dramatically than the first time as the drugs in his system made him feel bogged-down and his mind all foggy.  He found himself jerking away childishly when Bruce poked at his stitches.  The scientist chuckled and ignored Steve’s glowering black look until he was finished with his examination.  Bruce  _finally_  moved, revealing Tony, who looked more than amused at the present situation.

“You feeling alright, Cap?” Tony asked as he set the food on the bedside table.  The other Avengers moved to get a plate as Steve focused in on the engineer who’d wormed his way under his skin [ _and, more importantly, into his heart]_.  Steve’s mouth struggled to form any sort of intelligible words, so the idiotic patriot settled for smiling goofily at him.

Natasha’s laugh was sharp and beautiful, akin to the way Beverly would howl in that gorgeously unladylike demeanor.  Tony’s smile was something alluring, too, Steve figured, as it gave off the sort of light that came from a beam of energy.  It made it easier to focus, surrounded by sounds that were pleasant.  Another voice called to his attention, for the humor inside it was so warm Steve couldn’t quite resist.

“I’d say he’s just fine.” Sam laughed; Steve dragged his eyes from Tony to the ex-soldier.  He felt the laugh burst from his chest more than he heard it.  It was rough and burned Steve’s throat a little, but it felt  _good_  to laugh.

 

James had ditched the Winter Soldier gear and managed to find a hospital willing to turn a blind eye.  Patched up, he snuck out the moment the nurse’s back was turned and his stitches finished.  He wandered aimlessly for a few hours until he found himself standing at an older hotel.  An older man, dressed about the same as James, shoved a few bills into his hand and told him to find somewhere warm for the night.  James realized that the other was under the impression that he was homeless – and it was a shock to realize that, technically, he was.  He was free.

The hotel room was lonely and cramped, but it didn't belong to Hydra.  James was willing to put up with a lot more than a tiny room if it meant that he didn't have to go back.  Something was gnawing at the edge of his thoughts, but James couldn't push through the haze of the wipe to remember what it was.  Something was missing, something irrevocably important and special to him, but he couldn't find it.  Not in the mess that was his head.

The TV in the room was lacking, only offering a few news channels, but it was enough.  James would need the outlet to keep track of what was going on, of who could be tracking him  He thought of the man again – Steve Rogers, or Captain America as the exhibit at the Smithsonian had called him.  Absently, James wondered how he was, if he was surrounded by people who cared or if he was as alone as James was.

James’ fingers fumbled with the pocket watch he had stolen from the museum.  Inside was a picture – replaced by the Smithsonian staff some years ago – of the girl, barely a woman, whose face had been plastered all over the exhibit, stuck right next to his own unrecognizable features.  She was familiar, a gasp of air for a drowning man, and though it felt wrong, felt like he was betraying the Widow, James thought about the woman named Beverly Rogers and wondered why his heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest.

Tomorrow he would find the rendezvous point, James determined.  His wife would join him in figuring out the chaotic new world that was their freedom and they would be happy.  Or, so he hoped.

 

James sat on the little bench, still in his remaining gear, and sat there.  He remained on that bench for hours, waiting.  Even after being asked by several people if he was alright, he remained despite the fear of being discovered.  The sun had only begun to fall from the sky when James closed his eyes and realized she wasn't going to arrive.  The Black Widow had devised her own mission and the Winter Soldier was not a part of it.

His whole body ached and for the first time in a long while, he cried.

 

The dark sedan rolled to a quiet stop after the chaos of the previous day.  The Black Widow waited a few moments longer until it was declared clear for her to exit.  The air was cool against her face, a welcome relief after being trapped in a car for hours.  A soldier opened the passenger door and she cast her gaze at the helicopter waiting for them.  The relief faded from her skin, but Beverly squared her shoulders and let herself be helped from the van.

Beverly was surprised to see Reinhardt - Whitehall she reminded herself - sitting inside.  His smile was firm and sad as he offered her a helping and into her seat.  Taking the headset offered by the handler, she glared at Whitehall until the man acknowledged her questioning gaze as they took to the air.  Whitehall sighed, an uneasy smile gracing his features.  He fancied himself one of her favorites, though Beverly disliked him just as much as she did the others.

"Alexander Pierce is dead.  You will be evacuated immediately.  Baron Von Strucker, who you will be sent to, has informed me that the Asset will join us when the Heads see fit."

A silent apology resonated in the screaming of the wind as Whitehall gently patted her hand.  But she wasn't.  Not even three hours later as Barn Von Strucker sat opposite of the Black Widow.

His eyes held a quiet discontent that flashed like a warning under Beverly's observant glance.  The scientist had never appreciated her and the Winter Soldier's paired work - he believed that the Widow worked better alone.  She was certainly more efficient without the Winter Soldier, for she tended to be playful when on a mission with her lover.  There was nothing about her now to suggest the same playful idleness that surrounded her not many hours ago.

"You know, it is quite ironic how the last time the Winter Soldier failed to complete his mission, your son was kidnapped." Baron chuckled without amusement, for there was a darkness highlighting his pinched mouth.  Beverly's jaw tightened, tracing the Head's thought-process to the similarities to the Soldier's previous failed accomplishments.

"And here he has, once again, failed to complete his mission.  It is a good thing little Winifred has already been granted leave from Hydra or perhaps you may have lost her as well." He stood, contemplating the issue, and walked about the room.  Beverly restrained her expression so that nothing was revealed, but her palms were beginning to sweat.  God, she feared for her daughter and husband.  Beverly jumped, uncharacteristically, when Baron slammed his hands onto the table from behind her.  His nose was uncomfortably pressed against her ear as he spoke.

"If I find out this failure was deliberate on his part and yours, I will not hesitate to tear open the Earth to find that girl and destroy her." Von Strucker hissed.  And she believed him.

 

(The Fuck Knows Where In Outer Space)

Peter sat up, panting.  He tried to blink the crust out of his eyes, trying to retain the images that had last flashed before him.  After a moment of catching his breath, he realized that he had woken from another nightmare.  They had increased in volume, recently, and it was messing with his sleep to the point that the other Ravagers were beginning to notice.  No one had told Yandu yet, so Peter was still in the clear from a scolding.

This time, as he dreamt, he'd seen the woman - his mother.  The symbol was on her shoulder, bleeding, and though the man with the metal hand tried to help, her face continued to be twisted in agony.  She was surrounded by fire: a clear crystalline flame that glowed with each cry piercing her lips.

Peter's hand brushed soft plush and he turned to find his childhood toy tangled in the sheets.  The black bead eyes gleamed with familiarity and Peter's heart calmed.  Slipping from his sheets, he reached for his music player.  The headphones were worn, fitted to the curve of Peter's ears as he slid in the buds.  The music made everything better - the sounds of the best years of his life.

 

(Queens)

Peter stared at Winifred, who was sleeping peacefully despite the fact they were on the church roof.  He tugged his jacket over her a while ago, when he noticed her eyes beginning to fall shut, and pulled her head into his lap.  His fingers had curled themselves into her hair, a habit he was beginning to get used to and that Winifred had accepted with only one questioning gaze.  The night was getting darker and they needed to head inside soon, but he didn't feel ready to wake her up yet.

Sometimes, Peter felt like he was holding everything precious in his hands when she was near.  He wasn't sure that was how best friends were supposed to feel, but the days were getting fewer when the sight of Winifred didn't make Peter's chest hurt with something unknown and strangely twistedly pleasant.  Just catching a glimpse of those eyes - the surreal green hiding obscure truths that not even she was aware of - made his heart stutter.

So, he was content to let her continue using him as a pillow.  That was until a weird-looking spider bit him on the collarbone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure how to get Peter into the Spidersuit at the moment, so that last tidbit with him and Winifred might change!


	28. The Aftermath (of Waking Up)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incomplete but wanted to post what I got <3<3<3
> 
> FEEL THE ANGST MY FRIENDS

Steve took in a staggering breath.  After his release from the hospital, Tony had insisted that he stayed in his guest room at his home in Miami until the new Avengers building was finished.  Honestly, Steve was glad to get out of Washington while the world exploded with the news that Hydra was back.  Sitting on the beach was nice when he was trying to clear his head, although the engineer was proving to be an even more welcome distraction as Steve found himself sitting in the laboratory, just talking.

Most days were good, but days like today, all Steve could feel was the hurt banging in his chest.  He was in the sand because it was too hard to go down to the lab and listen to Tony talking all those mathematical equations and things that Beverly used to blabber about.  It reminded him of when she first came home, sprouting some equation he didn’t understand, and Steve had realized how smart she actually was.

His throat tightened and Steve was reminded of the struggle for life when an asthma attack would trap the air in his weak lungs.  It made him miss Beverly’s gentle hands and soothing words even more.  Lost in grief, he almost swung out when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Sorry, Cap.  Just me.” Tony quickly atoned.  His voice was unusually quiet, and although it may not have been completely understanding, it was comforting.  Those were the only words spoken for a while as Tony sat down beside him, the two men just watching the ocean and pretending that Steve didn’t have tear tracks on his face.  Steve was grateful for the silence, however unnatural it seemed.  He was grateful for Tony’s unexpected but peaceful company.  To Steve, it felt like an eternity before he could gather himself to open his mouth.

Steve wanted to show his appreciation for Tony, for not asking questions and pestering him about his sadness, for just being his friend when he’d lost his best friend all over again.

When he opened his mouth to speak, Steve was suddenly aware of the tightness of his throat.  The words came out in a quiet, choked-off sob that felt like it had been ripped out of his chest the moment Bucky’s hand had slipped from his own.  Steve let his head fall forward, let it hand between his shoulders as he fought for a grip on his emotions.

“Hey.  It’s okay.  You don’t have to talk about it.”  Tony gently assured.  Tony’s hand was a life preserver as it slid down his arm, across Steve’s back.  He scooted closer, ignoring the sand spilling all over his shorts.  Steve couldn’t admit it, but the closeness of Tony’s body to his made his heart slowly feel like it could beat again.

Shaking his head, Steve swallowed down the emotions threatening to pour out.  “Everyone thinks I sacrificed myself for the survival of this country’s people.  For democracy, freedom, justice.  I did it for Beverly.”

Anger coiled in Steve’s spine, but he didn’t pull away from Tony’s warmth.  Tony watched the flickering rage in those blue eyes, completely awed and unconsciously leaning closer.

“And she never even got to live past twenty.”

 

(Hydra Base in India)

Beverly sat patiently at her desk, waiting and watching and plotting.  Her lacquered nails drummed against the steel table-top as her things were packed.  One of her assistants was packing her tools under Beverly's watchful eyes, as they were reminiscent of her early days with Hydra and Beverly was secretly hoping to someday dig the hammer into Baron Von Strucker's forehead.

 

(Bolivian Forest, Somewhere in South America)

The Winter Soldier did not understand what the Black Widow expected him to do.  She had exiled him - with good intentions - from Hydra but it was all he had known for so long.  Now, he no longer even had her or Beverly to guide him.

 

(Tony's Mansion in Maimi)

Sam sat across from Steve at the table.  Chess was spread out in front of them but neither soldier was paying much attention to the game.  Tony was talking with Natasha in the kitchen, though he made sure to keep a careful eye on Steve.  He was worried.

"You're going after him, aren't you?" Sam asked.  His arms crossed over his chest.  The conversation on the other side of the room tettered off as Steve sat there, silently, for a moment.  He sighed, his big shoulders slumping.  Steve looked up at Sam and the other was surprised to see there was a tear in the corner of Steve's left eye.  The soldier blinked it away.

"I have too," Steve admitted, letting a sad smile crawl across his mouth.  His eyes unconsciously flickered to Tony, who looked determined to follow Steve if that was what he wanted.

"I could never forgive myself if I didn't try.  He'd do the same for me."

 

(Queens, New York)

Peter was laying against the side of the toilet, curled against the cool porcelain for relief against his heated skin.  Every neuron in his head was firing, flickering with input that was way too overwhelming for him to comprehend.  He knew he should have called May the moment he found the weird bite on his collarbone, but she would have left work to come to take care of him.  At the time it had seemed unnecessary to worry her.  Now Peter regretted leaving his aunt alone and himself to his own devices.  Summer wasn't supposed to be filled with a day hanging over the toilet, unable to move because the nausea was too strong.  Summer was supposed to be filled with pulling pranks and Winifred's sharp laughter.

It was still being filled with Winifred, though Peter was unaware of his best friend's arrival.

Peter was oblivious to the sound of running water until a cold washcloth smoothed over his wrinkled forehead.  Soft hands pulled his shirt and shorts off, and when he saw those bright green eyes, Peter tried to make a joke about Winifred finally accepting her attraction to him but was stopped by the pounding in his head.  Winifred didn't speak, as if she understood even the tiniest squeak of the door opening was too much.  She didn't even have to talk and neither did Peter.

Winifred dragged him to his bed, despite the whines he made at the movement.  Peter was grateful as he settled onto the comfortable mattress.  Winifred made to pull away, to avoid overwhelming her best friend with sensation, but when her hands left his skin Peter felt like there was an empty ache where she had touched him.  Peter tugged Winifred back.  Through his blurry vision, he could see her mouth explode into a smile that helped settle his racing mind.

Winifred was careful not to jostle him too much and laid half-beside and half-on Peter.  He was on his back, so she threw an arm over his bare stomach and her hand rested against his heartbeat.

"Go to sleep," Winifred whispered.  He half-expected her voice to grate his sensitive hearing, but he realized he should have known better.  Instead, the sound of Winifred settled the tightness in his chest.  His ears stopped ringing, even if only for a moment, and his eyesight cleared.  Winifred's fingers were soft as they brushed over his eyelids, closing his eyes.  Sleep wasn't far off after that.

(Six hours later)

"Ouch, that looks like it hurts." Winifred scrunched her nose at the bite, gingerly poking it.  Her brows raised as she actually looked Peter over for the first time since finding him half-conscious on the toilet.  He'd finally managed to overcome overwhelming nausea and dizziness and now rested on the bed as Winifred squirmed beside him.

"That looks like it _would_ hurt," She mused, moving her hands to press and squeeze at Peter's newly firm bicep.  Her best friend rolled his eyes, a little annoyed that she was more concerned with the arachnid's physical side effects as opposed to what he thought were the cool results of said puncture-marks.

"Come on, you could totally bench press me now.  How is that not cool?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking with the story! If you have any comments, please feel free to send them! I will take all the critiques I can get. The story should be regularly updated unless I fall behind on my writing. I hope you are enjoying Beverly as much as I enjoy writing her character!


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